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L01S1 D 
■ I : STREET, COA EtfT G • 
MDCCCXLV. 



RELIQUES 



OF 



ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY: 



CONSISTING OF 



OLD HEROIC BALLADS, SONGS, 

AND OTHER PIECES, 

OF OUR 

EARLIER POETS, 

TOGETHER WITH SOME FEW OF LATER DATE, 
AND A COPIOUS GLOSSARY. 



BY THOMAS PERCY, D.D. 

BISHOP OF DROMORE. 



LONDON: 
HENRY G. BOHN, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 

MDCCCXLV. 



PR 1131 

■Ps 



Herbert Pell 
March 18, 19« 



'■ 






ELIZABETH, 

LATE DUCHESS AND COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND, 

IN HER OWN RIGHT 

BARONESS PERCY, 

ETC. ETC. ETC., 

WtfO, BEING SOLE HEIRESS TO MANY GREAT FAMILIES 

OF OUR ANCIENT NOBILITY, 

EMPLOYED THE PRINCELY FORTUNE, 

AND SUSTAINED 

THE ILLUSTRIOUS HONOURS, WHICH SHE DERIVED FROM THEM, 

THROUGH HER WHOLE LIFE, 

WITH THE GREATEST DIGNITY, GENEROSITY, AND SPIRIT; 

AND WHO FOR HER MANY PUBLIC 

AND PRIVATE VIRTUES 

WILL EVER BE REMEMBERED 

AS ONE OF THE FIRST CHARACTERS OF HER TIME, 

THIS LITTLE WORK 

WAS ORIGINALLY DEDICATED : 

AND AS IT SOMETIMES AFFORDED HER AMUSEMENT, 

AND WAS HIGHLY DISTINGUISHED 

BY HER INDULGENT APPROBATION, 

IT IS NOW. 

WITH THE UTMOST REGARD, RESPECT, AND GRATITUDE, 

CONSECRATED 

TO HER BELOVED AND HONOURED 

MEMORY. 



CONTENTS 



Fa 8 e . 

1 Essay on the Ancient Minstrels in England xiii 

2 Notes and Illustrations xxiii 

SERIES THE FIRST. 

BOOK THE FIRST. 

1 The ancient Ballad of Chevy Chase 1 

2 The Battle of Otterhourne 5 

Illustration of the Names in the foregoing 

Ballads 9 

3 The Jew's Daughter. A Scottish Ballad. . 10 

4 Sir Cauline 11 

5 Edward, Edward. A Scottish Ballad 12 

6 King Estmere 13 

On the word Termagant 19 

7 Sir Patrick Spence. A Scottish Ballad . . 20 

8 Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne -20 

9 An Elegy on Henry, Fourth Earl of Nor- 

thumberland, by Skelton 24 

10 The Tower of Doctrine, by Stephen Hawes 27 

1 1 The Child of Elle 28 

12 Edom (Adam) o'Gordon. A Scottish Ballad 30 

BOOK THE SECOND. 

{Containing Ballads that illustrate Shakspeare.) 

Essay on the Origin of the English Stage . . 32 

1 Adam Bell, Clym o' the Clough, and Wil- 

liam of Cloudesly 40 

2 The aged Lover renounceth Love 47 

3 Jepthah Judge of Israel 48 

4 A Robyn, Jolly Robyn '. 48 

5 A Song to the Lute in Musicke 49 

6 King Cophetua and the Beggar-maid .... 50 

7 Take thy old Cloak about thee 51 

8 Willow, Willow, Willow 52 

9 Sir Lancelot du Lake 53 

10 Corydon's Farewell to Phillis 55 

The Ballad of Constant Susannah 55 

11 Gemutus, the Jew of Venice 55 

12 The Passionate Shepherd to his Love, by 

Marlow 58 

The Nymph's Reply, by Sir W. Raleigh. . 58 

13 Titus Andronicus's Complaint 59 

14 Take those Lips away 60 

15 King Leir and his Three Daughters 61 

16 Youth and Age, by Shakspeare 63 

17 Tbe Frolicksome Duke, or the Tinker's Good 

Fortune 63 

1 8 The Friar of Orders Gray 64 

BOOK THE THIRD. 

1 The more modern Ballad of Chevy Chase. . 66 

Illustration of the Northern Names .... 70 

2 Death's Final Conquest, by James Shirley . . 70 

3 The Rising in the North 71 

4 Northumberland betrayed by Douglas ... 73 

5 My Mind to me a Kingdome is 76 

6 The Patient Countess, by W. Warner .... 77 

7 Dowsabell, by Drayton '. 79 



Page 

8 The Farewell to Love, from Beaumont and 

Fletcher 80 

9 Ulysses and the Syren, by S. Daniel 81 

10 Cupid's Pastime, by Davison 81 

11 The Character of a Happy Life, by Sir H. 

W^otton 82 

12 Gilderoy. A Scottish Ballad 83 

23 Winifreda 84 

14 The Witch of Wokey 84 

15 Bryan and Pereene. A West India Ballad, 

by Dr. Grainger 85 

16 Gentle River, Gentle River. Translated 

from the Spanish 86 

17 Alcanzar and Zayda, a Moorish Tale .... 88 

SERIES THE SECOND. 

BOOK THE FIRST. 

1 Richard of Almaigne 89 

2 On the Death of King Edward 1 90 

3 An original Ballad, by Chaucer 92 

4 The Turnament of Tottenham 92 

5 For the Victory at Agincourt 95 

6 The Not-browne Mayd 96 

7 A Balet by the Earl Rivers 100 

8 Cupid's Assault. By Lord Vaux 100 

9 Sir Aldingar 101 

10 The Gaberlunzie Man. Scottish. By King 

James V 104 

1 1 On Thomas Lord Cromwell 105 

12 Harpalus. An ancient English Pastoral . . 106 

13 Robin and Makyne. An ancient Scottish 

Pastoral * 107 

14 Gentle Herdsman, tell to me 108 

15 King Edward IV. and the Tanner of Tam- 

worth 110 

16 As ye came from the Holy Land 112 

17 Hardy knute. A Scottish Fragment. By 

Sir J. Bruce 113 

BOOK THE SECOND. 

1 A Ballad of Luther, the Pope, a Cardinal, 

and a Husbandman 117 

2 John Anderson my Jo. A Scottish Song. . 119 

3 Little John Nobody 119 

4 Queen Elizabeth's Verses, while Prisoner 

at Woodstock 120 

5 The Heir of Linne 121 

6 Gascoigne's Praise of the fair Bridges, after- 

wards Lady Sandes 123 

7 Fair Rosamond. By Thomas Delone .... 124 

8 Queen Eleanor's Confession 127 

9 The Sturdy Rock 129 

10 The Beggar's Daughter of Bednal Green.. 129 
An Essay on the word Fit, and the Ancient 

Ballad Singing 132 

11 Fancy and Desire. By the Earl of Oxford 133 

1 2 Sir Andrew Barton • 134 

13 Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament. A Scottish 

Song 137 

14 The Murder of the Kino- of Scots 138 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

15 A Sonnet by Queen Elizabeth 139 

16 The King of Scots and And. Browne. By 

W. Elderton 140 

17 The Bonny Earl of Murray. A Scottish 

Song 142 

18 Young Waters. A Scottish Song 142 

19 Mary Ambree 143 

'JO Brave Lord Willoughby 145 

21 Victorious Men of Earth. By James Shirley 146 

22 The Winning of Cales 146 

23 The Spanish" Lady's Love 147 

24 Argentile and Curan. By W. Warner 148 

25 Corin's Fate 152 

26 Jane Shore 152 

27 Cory don's Doleful Knell 155 

BOOK THE THIRD. 

Essav on the Metre of Pierce Plowman's 

Visions 156 

1 The Complaint of Conscience 161 

2 Plain Truth and Blind Ignorance 163 

3 The Wandering Jew 164 

4 The Lye. By Sir Walter Raleigh 166 

5 Verses (viz. two Sonnets) by King James I. 167 

6 King John and the Abbot of Canterbury. . 167 

7 You Meaner Beauties. By Sir H. Wotton 169 

8 The Old and Young Courtier 169 

9 Sir John Suckling's Campaigne 170 

10 To Althea from Prison. By Col. Lovelace 171 

11 The Downfal of Charing Cross 171 

12 Loyalty Confined. By Sir Roger L'Estrange 172 

13 Verses by King Charles 1 173 

14 The Sale of Rebellious Household Stuff . . 174 

15 The Baffled Knight, or Lady's Policy 175 

16 Why so Pale 1 By Sir John Suckling 177 

J 7 Old Tom of Bedlam. Mad Song the Fh>t 177 

18 The Distracted Puritan. Mad Song the 

Second 178 

19 The Lunatic Lover. Mad Song the Third. 179 

20 The Lady Distracted with Love. Mad Song 

the Fourth 180 

21 The Distracted Lover. Mad Song the Fifth 180 

22 The Frantic Lady. Mad Song the Sixth.. 181 

23 Lilli-Burlero. By Lord Wharton 181 

24 The Braes of Yarrow, in Imitation of the an- 

cient Scottish Manner. By \V. Hamilton 182 

25 Admiral Hosier's Ghost. By Mr. Glover . 183 

26 Jemmy Dawson. By Mr. Shenstone .... 185 

SERIES THE THIRD. 

BOOK THE FinST. 

Essay on the Ancient Metrical Romances . 186 

1 The Boy and the Mantle 196 

2 The Marriage of sir Gawaine 199 

3 King Ryence's ( Ihallenge 202 

4 King Arthur's Death. A Fragment 203 

5 The Legend of King Arthur 205 

6 A Dyttie to Hey Downe 206 

7 Glasgerion 206 

8 Old Robin of Portingele 208 

9 Child Waters 209 

10 Phillida and Corydon. By Nic. Breton .. 211 

11 Little Mnsgrave and Lady Barnard 212 

12 Th<» Ew-bughta Marion. A Scottish Song. 213 



Page 

13 The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter 214 

14 The Shepherd's Address to his Muse. By 

N. Breton 215 

15 Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor , . . . 215 

16 Cupid and Campaspe. By John Lilye-. . . 216 

17 The Lady turned Serving man 217 

18 Gil ('Child) Morrice. A Scottish Ballad.. 218 

BOOK THE SECOND. 

1 The Legend of Sir f , dj 220 

2 Guy and Amarant. By Sam. Rowlands .. 222 

3 The Auld Good-man. A Scottish Song . . 225 

4 Fair Margaret and Sweet William 225 

5 Barbara Allen's Cruelty 226 

6 Sweet William's Ghost. A Scottish Ballad 227 

7 Sir John Grehme and Barbara Allan. Ditto 228 

8 The Bailiffs Daughter of Islington 228 

9 The Willow Tree. A Pastoral Dialogue.. . 229 

10 The Lady's Fall 230 

11 Waly, waly, Love be bonny. A Scottish 

Song 231 

12 The Bride's Burial 232 

13 Dulcina 233 

14 The Lady Isabella's Tragedy 234 

15 A Hue and Cry after Cupid. Bv Ben Jonson 235 

16 The King of France's Daughter 235 

17 The Sweet Neglect. By Ben Jonson .... 2.S7 

1 8 The Children in the Wood 2S« 

19 A Lover of late was 1 239 

20 The King and the Miller of Mansfield 240 

21 The Shepherd's Resolution. By G. Wither 242 

22 Queen Dido, or the Wandring Prince of 

Troy 243 

23 The Witches Song. By Ben Johnson 244 

24 Robin Good-fellow '245 

25 The Fairy Queen 24 7 

26 The Fairies Farewell. By Dr. Corbet 217 

. . BOOK THE THIRD. 

1 The Birth of St. George 249 

2 St. George and the Dragon 1o-£ 

3 Love will find out the Wav 254 

4 Lord Thomas and Fair Annet. A Scottish 

Ballad 255 

5 Unfading Beauty. By Tho. Carew 256 

6 George Barnwell 257 

7 The Stedfast Shepherd. By Geo. Wither. . 260 

8 The Spanish Virgin ; or the Effects of 

Jealousy „ 261 

9 Jealousy, Tyrant of the Mind. By Dry den 262 

10 Constant Penelope 263 

11 To Lucasta, on going to the Wars. By Col. 

■ Lovelace 264 

1 2 Valentine and Ursine 264 

13 The Dragon of Wantlev 268 

14 St. George for England. The First Part.. 271 

15 St. George for England. The Second Part. 

By J. Grubb 272 

16 Margaret's Ghost. By David Mallet c 276 

17 Lucy and Colin. By Tho. Tickell 277 

18 The Hoy and the Mantle, Revised, &c. .. 278 

19 The ancient Fragment of the Marriage of 

;Sir Gawaine 280 

20 rlermit of Warkworth 283 

G loaaary 293 



ADVERTISEMENT 



FOURTH EDITION. 



Twenty years have near elapsed since the last edi- 
tion of this work appeared. But, although it was 
sufficiently a favourite with the public, and had long 
been out of print, the original Editor had no desire 
to revive it. More important pursuits had, as might 
be expected, engaged his attention ; and the present 
edition would have remained unpublished, had he 
not yielded to the importunity of his friends, and 
accepted the humble offer of an Editor in a nephew, 
to whom, it is feared, he will be found too partial. 

These volumes are now restored to the public 
with such corrections and improvements as have 
occurred since the former impression ; and the text 
in particular hath been emended in many passages 
by recurring to the old copies. The instances being 
frequently trivial, are not always noted in the 
margin ; but the alteration hath never been made 
without good reason : and especially in such pieces 
as were extracted from the folio manuscript so often 
mentioned in the following pages, where any varia- 
tion occurs from the former impression, it will be 
understood to have been given on the authority of 
that MS. 

The appeal publicly made to Dr. Johnson in the 
first page of the following preface, so long since as 
in the year 1765, and never once contradicted by 
him during so large a portion of his life, ought to 
have precluded every doubt concerning the existence 
of the MS in question. But such, it seems, having 
been suggested, it may now be mentioned, that while 
this edition passed through his press, the MS, itself 
was left for near a year with Mr. Nichols, in whose 
house, or in that of its possessor, it was examined 
with more or less attention by many gentlemen of 
eminence in literature. At the first publication of 
these volumes, it had been in the hands of all, or 
most of, his friends ; but, as it could hardly b? ex- 
pected that he should continue to think of nothing 
else but these amusements of his youth, it was after- 
wards laid aside at his residence in the country. 
Of the many gentlemen above mentioned, who 
offered to give their testimony to the public, it will 
be sufficient to name the Hon. Daines Barrington, 
the Rev. Clayton Mordaunt Cracherode, and those 
eminent Critics on Shakespeare, the Rev. Dr. 
Farmer, George Steevens, Esq., Edmund Malone. 



Esq. and Isaac Reed, Esq., to whom I beg lea 
appeal for the truth of the following representatio 

The MS. is along narrow folio volume, contain 
ing 195 Sonnets, Ballads, Historical Songs, and 
Metrical Romances, either in the whole or in part, 
for many of them are extremely mutilated and imper- 
fect. The first and last leaves are wanting ; and of 
54 pages near the beginning half of every leaf hath 
been torn away, and several others are injured 
towards the end ; besides that through a great part 
of the volume the top or bottom line, and sometimes 
both have been cut off in the binding. 

In this state is the MS. itself : and even where 
the leaves have suffered no injury, the transcripts, 
which seem to have been all made by one person, 
(they are at least all in the same kind of hand,) 
are sometimes extremely incorrect and faulty, 
being in such instances probably made from de- 
fective copies, or the imperfect recitation of illite- 
rate singers ; so that a considerable portion of the 
song or narrative is sometimes omitted ; and mi- 
serable trash or nonsense not unfrequently intro- 
duced into pieces of considerable merit. And often 
the copyist grew so weary of his labour as to write 
on without the least attention to the sense or mean- 
ing ; so that the word which should form the 
rhyme is found misplaced in the middle of the line ; 
and we have such blunders as these, want and will 
for wanton will* ; even pan and wale for wan and 
palef, &c. &c. 

Hence the Public may judge how much they 
are indebted to the composer of this collection ; 
who, at an early period of life, with such mate- 
rials and such subjects, formed a work which hath 
been admitted into the most elegant libraries ; and 
with which the judicious antiquary hath just reason 
to be satisfied, while refined entertainment hath been 
provided for every reader of taste and genius. 

THOMAS PERCY, 

Fellow of St. John's College, Oxford. 



* Page 130. Ver. 117.— This must have been copied from 
reciter. 

t Page 139. Ver. 164, viz. 
" His visage waxed 



PREFACE. 



The reader is here presented with select remains of 
our ancient English Bards and Minstrels, an order 
of men, who were once greatly respected hy our 
ancestors, and contribuuted to soften the roughness 
of a martial and unlettered people hy their songs 
and hy their music. 

The greater part of them are extracted from an 
ancient folio manuscript, in the Editor's possession, 
which contains near two hundred Poems, Songs, and 
Metrical Romances. This MS. was written abcut 
the middle of the last century ; hut contains compo- 
sitions of all times and dates, from the ages prior to 
Chaucer, to the conclusion of the reign of Charles I.* 

This manuscript was shown to* several learned 
and ingenious friends, who thought the contents too 
curious to he consigned to oblivion, and importuned 
the possessor to select some of them, and give them 
to the press. As most of them are of great simpli- 
city, and seem to have heen merely written for the 
people, he was long in douht, whether, in the present 
state of improved literature, they could be deemed 
worthy the attention of the public. At length the 
importunity of his friends prevailed, and he could 
refuse nothing to such judges as the Author of the 
Rambler and the late Mr. Shenstone. 

Accordingly such specimens of ancient poetry 
have been selected, as either show the gradation of 
our language, exhibit the progress of popular opi- 
nions, display the peculiar manners and customs of 
former ages, or throw light on our earlier classical 
poets. 

They are here distributed into volumes, each of 
which contains an independent series of poems, 
arranged chiefly according to the order of time, and 
showing the gradual improvements of the English 
language and poetry from the earliest ages down to 
the present. Each volume, or series, is divided into 
three books, to afford so many pauses, or resting- 
places to the reader, and to assist him in distinguish- 
ing betwen the productions of the earlier, the middle, 
and the latter times. 

In a polished age, like the present, I am sensible 
that many of these reliques of antiquity will require 
great allowances to be made for them. Yet have 
they, for the most part, a pleasing simplicity, and 
many artless graces, which in the opinion of no mean 



• Chancer quotes the <>1<1 Romance <>f " Libius Discounts, " 
and some others, which are found in this MS. It also con- 
tain! several Songs relating to Hit- Civil War in tlio lastccn- 
but. not one that alludes to the Restoration! 



critics* have been thought to compensate' for the 
want of higher beauties, and, if they do not dazzle 
the imagination, are frequently found to interest the 
heart. 

To atone for the rudeness of the more obsolete 
poems, each volume concludes with a few modern 
attempts in the same kind of writing : and, to take 
off from the tediousness of the longer narratives, they 
are every where intermingled with little elegant 
pieces of the lyric kind. Select ballads in the old 
Scottish dialect, most of them of the first rate merit, 
are also interspersed among those of our ancient 
English Minstrels ; and the artless productions of 
these old rhapsodists are occasionally confronted 
with specimens of the composition of contemporary 
poets of a higher class ; of those who had all the 
advantages of learning in the times in which they 
lived, and who wrote for fame and for posterity. 
Yet perhaps the palm will be frequently due to the 
old strolling Minstrels, who composed their rhimes 
to be sung to their harps, and who looked no further 
than for present applause, and present subsistence. 

The reader will find this class of men occasionally 
described in the following volumes, and some par- 
ticulars relating to then: history in an Essay sub- 
joined to this preface. 

It will he proper here to give a short account 
of the other collections that were consulted, and 
to make my acknowledgements to those gentle- 
men who were so kind as to impart extracts from 
them ; for, while this selection was making, a great 
number of ingenious friends took a share in the work, 
and explored many large repositories in its favour. 

The first of these that deserved notice was the 
Pepysian library at Magdalen College, Cambridge. 
Its founder, Sam. Pepys t, Esq., Secretary of the Ad- 
miralty in the reigns of Charles II. and James II. 
had made a large collection of ancient English 
ballads, near two thousand in number, which he has 
left pasted in five volumes in folio ; besides Gar- 
lands and other smaller miscellanies. This collec- 
tion, he tells us, was " begun by Mr. Selden ; im- 

• Mr. Addison, Mr. Dryden, and the witty Lord Dorset, 
&c. See the Spectator, No. 70. To these might be added 
many eminent judges now alive. — The learned Selden 
appears also to have been fond of collecting these old things. 
Sir below. 

+ A Lite of our curious collector, Mr. Pcpys, may be seen 
in " The Continuation of Mr. Collier's Supplement to his 
Great Dictionary, 1715, at the end of vol. iii. folio. Art. 
PEP.' 



PREFACE. 



proved by the addition of many pieces elder thereto 
in time ; and the whole continued down to the year 
1700 ; when the form peculiar till then thereto, viz. of 
the black letter with pictures, seems (for cheapness 
sake) wholly laid aside for that of the white letter 
without pictures." 

In the Ashmole Library at Oxford is a small col- 
lection of Ballads made by Anthony Wood in the 
year 1676, containing somewhat more than two hun- 
dred. Many ancient popular poems are also pre- 
served in the Bodleyan Library. 

The archives of the Antiquarian Society at London 
contain a multitude of curious political poems in 
large folio volumes, digested under the several reigns 
of Henry VIIL, Edward VI., Mary, Elizabeth, James 
I., &c. 

In the British Museum is preserved a large trea- 
sure of ancient English poems in MS. besides one 
folio volume of printed ballads. 

From all these some of the best pieces were selected ; 
and from many private collections, as well printed 
as manuscript, particularly from one large folio 
volume which was lent by a lady. 

Amid such a fund of materials, the Editor is 
afraid he has been sometimes led to make too gredt 
a parade of his authorities. The desire of being 
accurate has perhaps seduced him into too minute 
and trifling an exactness ; and in pursuit of infor- 
mation he may have been drawn into many a petty 
and frivolous research. It was however necessary 
to give some account of the old copies ; though 
often, for the sake of brevity, one or two of these 
only are mentioned, where yet assistance was re- 
ceived from several. Where any thing was altered 
that deserved particular notice, the passage is gene- 
rally distinguished by two inverted ' commas.' And 
the Editor has endeavoured to be as faithful as the 
imperfect state of his materials would admit. For 
these old popular rhimes being many of them copied 
only from illiterate transcripts, or the imperfect recita- 
tion of itinerant ballad-singers, have, as might be ex- 
pected, been handed down to us with less care than 
any other writings in the world. And the old copies, 
whether MS. or printed, were often so defective or 
corrupted, that a scrupulous adherence to their 
wretched readings would only have exhibited unin- 
telligible nonsense, or such poor meagre stuff as 
neither came from the Bard nor was worthy the 
press ; when, by a few slight corrections or additions, 
a most beautiful or interesting sense hath started 
forth, and this so naturally and easily, that the 
Editor could seldom prevail on himself to indulge 
the vanity of making a formal claim to the improve- 
ment ; but must plead guilty to the charge of con- 
cealing his own share in the amendments under 
some such general title as a " Modern Copy," or the 
like. Yet it has been his design to give sufficient 
intimation where any considerable liberties* were 
taken with the old copies, and to have retained either 
in the text or margin any word or phrase which was 
antique, absolete, unusual, or peculiar, so that these 
might be safely quoted as of genuine and undoubted 
antiquity. His object was to please both the judi- 
cious antiquary and the reader of taste ; and he hath 
endeavoured to gratify both without offending either. 



* Such liberties have been taken with all those pieces 
which have three abtericks subjoined, thus * # « 



The plan of the work was settled in concert with 
the late elegant Mr. Shenstone, who was to have 
borne a joint share in it had not death unhappily 
prevented him.* Most of the modern pieces were of 
his selection and arrangement, and the Editor hopes 
to be pardoned if he has retained some things out of 
partiality to the judgement of his friend. The old 
folio MS. above mentioned was a present from 
Humphrey Pitt, Esq. of Prior's-Lee, in Shropshiref, 
to whom this public acknowledgement is due for 
that, and many other obliging favours. To Sir 
David Dalrymple, Bart, of Hales, near Edinburgh, 
the editor is indebted for most of the beautiful 
Scottish poems with which this little miscellany is 
enriched, and for many curious and elegant remarks 
with which they are illustrated. Some obliging 
communications of the same kind were received from 
John Mac Gowan, Esq. of Edinburgh ; and many 
curious explanations of Scottish words in the glos- 
saries from John Davidson, Esq. of Edinburgh, and 
from the Rev. Mr. Hutchinson, of Kimbolton. Mr. 
Warton, who has twice done so much honour to the 
Poetry Professor's chair at Oxford, and Mr. Hest of 
Worcester College, contributed some curious pieces 
from the Oxford libraries. Two ingenious and 
learned friends at Cambridge deserve the Editor's 
warmest acknowledgements : to Mr. Blakeway, late 
fellow of Magdalen College, he owes all the assist- 
ance received from the Pepysian library : and Mr. 
Farmer, fellow of Emanuel, often exerted, in favour 
of this little work, that extensive knowledge of 
ancient English literature for which lie is so distin- 
guished f. Many extracts from ancient MSS. in the 



* That the Editor hath not here underrated the assistance 
he received from his friend, will appear from Mr. Slicn- 
stone's own letter to the Rev. Mr. Graves, dated March 1, 
1761. See his Works, vol. iii. letter ciii. It is doubtless a 
great loss to this work, that Mr. Shenstone never saw more 
than about a third of one of these volumes, as prepared for 
the press. 

t Who informed the Editor that this MS. had been pur- 
chased in a library of old books, which was thought to have 
belonged to Thomas Blount, author of the " Jocular Tenures, 
1670," 4to, and of many other publications enumerated in 
Wood's Athenae, ii. 73 ; the earliest of which is " The Art 
of Making Devises, 1646," 4to, wherein he is described to be 
" of the Inner Temple." If the collection was made by this 
lawyer, (who also published the " Law Dictionary, 1671," 
folio,) it should seem, from the errors and defects with which 
the MS. abounds, that he had employed his clerk in writing 
the transcripts, who was often weary of his task. 

X To the same learned and ingenious friend, since Master 
of Emanuel College, the Editor is obliged for many correc- 
tions and improvements in his second and subsequent edi- 
tions ; as also to the Rev. Mr. Bowie, of Idmistone, 
near Salisbury, Editor of the curious edition of Don 
Quixote, with Annotations, in Spanish, in six vols. 4to. ; 
to the Rev. Mr. Cole, formerly of Blecheley, near Fenny- 
Stratford, Bucks. ; to the Rev. Mr. Lambe, of Nore- 
ham, in Northumberland, author of a learned " History of 
of Chess," 1764, 8vo. and Editor of a curious " Poem on the 
Battle of Flodden Field," with learned Notes, 1774, 8vo. ; 
and to G. Paton, Esq. of Edinburgh. He is particularly 
indebted to two friends, to whom the public, a3 well as him- 
self, are under the greatest obligations ; to the Honourable 
Daines Barrington, for his very learned and curious " Ob- 
servations on the Statutes," 4to. ; and to Thomas Tyrwhitt, 
Esq., whose most correct and elegant edition of Chaucer's 
" Canterbury Tales," 5 vols. 8vo. is a standard book, and 
shows how an ancient English classic should be published. 
The Editor was also favoured with many valuable remarks 
and corrections from the Rev. Geo. Ashby, late fellow of 
St. John's College, in Cambridge, which are not particu- 
larly pointed out because they occur so often. He was no 
less obliged to Thomas Butler, Esq. F.A. S. agent to the 
Duke of Northumberland, and CI rk of the Peace for the 
county of Middlesex ; whose extensive knowledge of ancient 
writings, records, and history, has been of great use to the 



Ill 



PREFACE. 



British Museum, and other repositories, were owing 
to the kind services of Thomas Astle, Esq. to whom 
the public is indebted for the curious Preface and 
Index annexed to the Harleyan Catalogue*. The 
worth)- Librarian of the Society of Antiquaries, Mr. 
Norris, deserves acknowledgement for the obliging 
manner in which he gave the Editor access to the 
volumes under his care. In Mr. Garrick's curious 
collection of old plays are many scarce pieces of 
ancient poetry, with the free use of which lie indulged 
the Editor in the politest manner. To the Rev. Dr. 
Birch he is indebted for the use of several ancient 
and valuable tracts. To the friendship of Dr. 
Samuel Johnson he owes many valuable hints for 
the conduct of the work. And, if the Glossaries are 
more exact and curious than might be expected in 
so slight a publication, it is to be ascribed *o the 
supervisal of a friend, who stands at this time tht 
first in the world for Northern literature, and whose 
learning is better known and respected in foreign 
nations than in his own country. It is perhaps 



Editor in his attempts to illustrate the literature or manners 
of our ancestors. Some valuable remarks wert procured by 
Samuel Pegge, Esq. author of that curious work the " Curi- 
alia," 4to. : but this impression was too far advanced to 
profit by them all ; which hath also been the case with a 
series of learned and ingenious annotations inserted in the 
Gentleman's Magazine for August, 1793, April, June, July, 
and October, 1794, and which, it is hoped, will be continued. 
• Since Keeper of the Records in the Tower. 



needless to name the Rev. Mr. Lye, Editor of Ju- 
nius's Etymologicum, and of the Gothic Gospels. 

The names of so many men of learning and cha- 
racter the Editor hopes will serve as an amulet, to 
guardhim fromeveryunfavourablecensure for having 
bestowed any attention on a parcel of Old Ballads. 
It was at the request of many of these gentlemen, 
and of others eminent for their genius and taste, thai 
this little work was undertaken. To prepare it for 
the press has been the amusement of now and then 
a vacant hour amid the leisure and retirement of 
rural life, and hath only served as a relaxation from 
graver studies. It has been taken up at different 
times, and often thrown aside for many months, 
during an interval of four or five years. This has 
occasioned some inconsistencies and repetitions, 
which the candid reader will pardon. As great care 
has been taken to admit nothing immoral and inde- 
cent, the Editor hopes he need not be ashamed of 
having bestowed some of his idle hours on the an- 
cient literature of our own country, or in rescuing 
from oblivion some pieces (though but the amuse- 
ments of our ancestors) which tend to place in a 
striking light their taste, genius, sentiments, or 
manners. 

Except in one paragraph, and in the Notes sub- 
joined, this Preface is given with little variation 
from the first edition in vidcclxv. 



AN 

ESSAY 

ON THE 

ANCIENT MINSTEELS IN ENGLAND, 



f. The Minstrels (A) were an order of men in 
the middle ages, who subsisted by the arts of 
poetry and music, and sang to the harp verses com- 
posed by themselves, or others*. They also appear 
to have accompanied their songs with mimicry and 
action ; and to have practised such various means of 
diverting as were much admired in those rude times, 
and supplied the want of more refined entertain- 
ment (B). These arts rendered them extremely po- 
pular and acceptable in this and all the neighbouring- 
countries ; where no high scene of festivity was 
esteemed complete, that was not set off with the 
exercise of their talents ; and where, so long as the 
spirit of chivalry subsisted, they were protected and 
caressed, because their songs tended to do honour 
to the ruling passion of the times, and to encoui-age 
and foment a martial spirit. 

The Minstrels seem to have been the genuine suc- 
cessors of the ancient Bards (C), who under different 
names were admired and revered, from the earliest 
ages, among the people of Gaul, Britain, Ireland, 
and the North ; and indeed, by almost all the first 
inhabitants of Europe, whether of Celtic or Gothic 
racet ; but by none more than by our own Teutonic 
ancestors:):, particularly by all the Danish tribes.§ 
Among these, they were distinguished by the name 
of Scalds, a word which denotes " smoothers and 



(A) The larger Notes and Illustrations referred to by the 
capital letters (A) (B) &c. are thrown together to the end 
of this Essay 

* Wedded to no hypothesis, the Author hath readily cor- 
rected any mistakes which have been proved to be in this 
Essay ; and, considering the novelty of the subject, and the 
time, and place, when and where he first took it up, many 
such had been excusable. That the term Minstrel was not 
confined, as some contend, to a mere Musician, in this coun- 
try, any more than on the Continent, will be considered 
more fully in the last note (G g) at the end of ihis Essay. 

t Vid. PeTloutier Hist, des Celtes, torn. 1, 1. 2, c. 6, 10. 

J Tacit, de Mor. Germ. cap. 2. 

§ Vid. Bartholin, de Causis contemptas a Danis Mortis, 
lib. 1, cap. 10.— Wormij Literatura Runic, ad finera. — See 
also " Northern Autiq'uties, or, a Description of the Man- 
ners, Customs, &c. of the ancient Danes and other Northern 
Nations : from the French of M. Maliet." London, 
printed for T. Carnan, 1770, 2 vols. 8vo. 



polishers of language*." The origin of their art was 
attributed to Odin or Woden, the father of their 
gods ; and the professors of it were held in the 
highest estimation. Their skill was considered as 
something divine ; their persons were deemed sacred ; 
their attendance was solicited by kings ; and they 
were every where loaded with honours and rewards. 
In short, Poets and their art were held among them 
in that rude admiration which is ever shown by an 
ignorant people to such as excel them in intellectual 
accomplishments. 

As these honours were paid to Poetry and Song, 
from the earliest times, in those countries which our 
Anglo-Saxon ancestors inhabited before their removal 
into Britain, we may reasonably conclude, that they 
would not lay aside all their regard for men of 
this sort immediately on quitting their German 
forests. At least so long as they retained their 
ancient manners and opinions, they would still hold 
them in high estimation. But as the Saxons, soon 
after their establishment in this island, were con- 
verted to Christianity ; in proportion as literature 
prevailed among them, this rude admiration would 
begin to abate ; and Poetry would be no longer a 
peculiar profession. Thus the Poet and the Min- 
strel early with us became two persons (D). Poetry 
was cultivated by men of letters indiscriminately ; 
and many of the most popular rhimes were composed 
amidst the leisure and retirement of monasteries. 
But the Minstrels continued a distinct order of men 
for many ages after the Norman conquest ; and got 
their livelihood by singing verses to the harp at the 
houses of the great (E). There they were still hos- 
pitably and respectfully received, and retained many 
of the honours shown to their predecessors, the 
Bards and Scalds (F). And though, as their art 
declined, many of them only recited the composi- 
tions of others, some of them still composed songs 
themselves, and all of them could probably- invent a 
few stanzas on occasion. I have no doubt but 
most of the old heroic Ballads in this collection 



* Torfvei Praefat. ad Oread. Hist.— Pref. to 
of Runic Poetry," &c. 



Five Pieces 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



were composed by this order of men. For although 
some of the larger metrical romances might come 
from the pen of the monks or others, vet the smaller 
narratives were probably composed by the minstrels 
who sang them. From the amazing variations which 
occur in different copies of the old pieces, it is evi- 
dent they made no scruple to "alter each others pro- 
ductions ; and the reciter added or omitted whole 
stanzas, according to his own fancy or conve- 
nience. 

In the early ages, as was hinted above, the pro- 
fession of oral itinerant Poet was held in the utmost 
reverence among all the Danish tribes ; and, there- 
fore, we might have concluded, that it was not un- 
known or unrespected among their Saxon brethren 
in Britain, even if history had been altogether silent 
on this subject. The original country of our Anglo- 
Saxon ancestors is well known to have lien chiefly 
in the Cimbric Chersonese, in the tracts of land 
since distinguished by the name of Jutland, Angelen, 
and Holstein*. The Jutes and Angles in particular, 
who composed two-thirds of the conquerors of 
Britain, were a Danish people, and their country at 
this day belongs to the crown of Denmarkf ; so 
that when the Danes again infested England, three 
or four hundred years after, they made war on the 
descendants of their own ancestors^. From this 
near affinity, we might expect to discover a strong 
resemblance between both nations in their customs, 
manners, and even language ; and, in fact, we find 
them to differ no more than would naturally happen 
between a parent country and its own colonies, that 
had been severed in a rude uncivilized state, and had 
dropt all intercourse for three or four centuries : 
especially if we reflect that the colony here settled 
had adopted a new religion, extremely opposite in 
all respects to the ancient Paganism of the mother 
country ; and that even at first, along with the ori- 
ginal Angli, had been incorporated a large mixture 
of Saxons from the neighbouring parts of Germany ; 
and afterwards, among the Danish invaders, had 
come vast multitudes of adventurers from the more 
northern parts of Scandinavia. But all these were 
only different tribes of the same common Teutonic 
stock, and spoke only different dialects of the same 
Gothic language.§ 

From this sameness of original and similarity of 
manners, we might justly have wondered, if a 
character, so dignified and distinguished among the 
ancient Danes, as the Scald or Bard, had been 
totally unknown or unregarded in this sister nation. 
And, indeed, this argument is so strong, and, at the 
same time, the early annals of the Anglo-Saxons 
are so scanty and defective (G), that no objections 
from their silence could be sufficient to overthrow 
it. For if these popular Bards were confessedly 
revered and admired in those very countries which 
the Anglo-Saxons inhabited before their removal 
into Britain, and if they were afterwards common 



Saxon, a Gibson, p. 12, 13, 4to. — Bod. 
ildsexe ( Regfoantiq. 



• Vid. Chronic. Saxon. ;\ liibson, n. 
Hist. Eccles. a Smith, lib. 1, c. 15.—" Ea 

Saxonuin] in c.ivirr (' imlni. .«• (h, i m.ikm, I MsaUam pr 

prie dlctam Dithmarriam, Btormariara, el Wagriam, <-om- 

blectens." Annol. in Bed. .1 Smith, p. 52. Et vid. Cain- 
rJnii JJiitari. 

t " aaglia Vctns, hodie etiam A.nglen, tita est inter Sax- 

ont-si-t (JiotfsjJntos], ha hens oppidum ca pit air. .. Slow irk " 

Ethelwerd. lib. 1. 

Bee Northern Antiquities, &c. vol. i. nag. 7, 8, 185, 250. 
200, 201. 
$ Ibid. Preface, p. 26. 



and numerous among the other descendants of the 
same Teutonic ancestors, can we do otherwise than 
conclude, that men of this order accompanied such 
tribes as migrated hither ; that they afterwards sub- 
sisted here, though, perhaps, with less splendour 
than in the North ; and that there never was wanting 
a succession of them to hand down the art, though 
some particular conjunctures may have rendered it 
more respectable at one time than another ? And 
this was evidently the case. For though much 
greater honours seem to have been heaped upon 
the northern Scalds, in whom the characters of his- 
torian, genealogist, poet, and musician, were all 
united, than appear to have been paid to the Min- 
strels and Harpers (H) of the Anglo-Saxons, whose 
talents were chiefly calculated to entertain and di- 
vert ; while the Scalds professed to inform and in- 
struct, and were at once the moralists and theologues 
of their Pagan countrymen ; yet the Anglo-Saxon 
Minstrels continued to possess no small portion of 
public favour ; and the arts they professed were 
so extremely acceptable to our ancestors, that the 
word glee, which peculiarly denoted their art, con- 
tinues still in our own language to be of all others 
the most expressive of that popular mirth and jol- 
lity, that strong' sensation of delight, which is felt 
by unpolished and simple minds (I). 

II. Having premised these general considerations, 
I shall now proceed to collect from history such par- 
ticular incidents as occur on this subject ; and, whe- 
ther the facts themselves are true or not, they are 
related by authors who lived too near the Saxon times, 
and had before them too many recent monuments of 
the Anglo-Saxon nation, not to know what was con- 
formable to the genius and manners of that people ; 
and therefore we may presume, that their relations 
prove at least the existence of the customs and habits 
they attribute to our forefathers before the conquest, 
whatever becomes of the particular incidents and 
events themselves. If this be admitted, we shall 
not want sufficient proofs to show that Minstrelsy 
and Song were not extinct among the Anglo-Saxons ; 
and that the professor of them here, if not quite so 
respectable a personage as the Danish Scald, was yet 
highly favoured and protected, and continued still to 
enjoy considerable privileges. 

Even so early as the first invasion of Britain by 
the Saxons, an incident is recorded to have happened, 
which, if true, shows that the Minstrel or Bard was 
not unknown among this people ; and that their 
princes themselves could, upon occasion, assume 
that character. Colgrin, son of that Ella who was 
elected king or leader of the Saxons in the room of 
Hengist*, was shut up in York, and closely besieged 
by Arthur and his Britons. Baldulph, brother of 
Colgrin, wanted to gain access to him, and to apprize 
him of a reinforcement which was coming from Ger- 
many, lie had no other way to accomplish his 
design, but to assume the character of a Minstrel. 
He therefore shaved his head and beard, and, dressing 
himself in the habit of that profession, took his harp 
in his hand. In this disguise, he walked up and 
down the trenches without suspicion, playing all the 
while upon his instrument as a Harper. By little 
and Little he advanced near to the walls of the city, 
and, making himself known to the sentinels, was in 
the night drawn up by a rope. 



• See Rapin'a Hist, by Tindal, fol. 1732, vol. i. p. 36> 
who places the incident here related under the year 495 u 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



Although the above fact comes only from the su- 
spicious pen of GeofFry of Monmouth(K),the judicious 
reader will not too hastily reject it ; because, if such 
a fact really happened, it could only be known to us 
through the medium of the British writers : for the 
first Saxons, a martial but unlettered people, had no 
historians of their own ; and GeofFry, with all his 
fables, is allowed to have recorded many true events, 
that have escaped other annalists. 

We do not however want instances of a less 
fabulous aera, and more indubitable authority : for 
later history affords us two remarkable facts (L), 
which I think clearly show that the same arts of 
poetry and song, which were so much admired among 
the Danes, were by no means unknown or neglected 
in this sister nation : and that the privileges and 
honours which were so lavishly bestowed upon the 
Northern Scalds, were not wholly withheld from 
the Anglo-Saxon Minstrels. 

Our great King Alfred, who is expressly said to 
have excelled in music*, being desirous to learn the 
true situation of the Danish army, which had invaded 
his realm, assumed the dress and character of a Min- 
strel (M) : when, taking his harp, and one of the 
most trusty of his friends disguised as a servant!, 
> (for in the early times it was not unusual for a 
minstrel to have a servant to carry his harp,) he 
went with the utmost security into the Danish camp ; 
and, though he could not but be known to be a 
Saxon by his dialect, the character he had assumed 
procured him a hospitable reception. He was ad- 
mitted to entertain the king at table, and staid among 
them long enough. to contrive that assault which 
afterwards destroyed them. This was in the year 
878. 

About sixty years after}:, a Danish king made use 
of the same disguise to explore the camp of our king 
Athelstan. With his harp in his hand, and dressed 
like a Minstrel (N), AulafF§, king of the Danes, went 
among the Saxon tents ; and, taking his stand near 
the king's pavilion, began to play, and was imme- 
diately admitted. There he entertained Athelstan 
and his lords with his singing and his music, and 
was at length dismissed with an honourable reward, 
though his songs must have discovered him to have 
been a Dane (O). Athelstan was saved from the 
consequences of this stratagem by a soldier, who had 
; observed Aulaff bury the money which had been 
given him, either from some scruple of honour, or 
motive of superstition. This occasioned a discovery. 
Now if the Saxons had not been accustomed to 
have Minstrels of their own, Alfred's assuming so 
I new and unusual a character would have excited 
I suspicions among the Danes. On the other hand, 
I if it had not been customary with the Saxons to 
! show favour and respect to the Danish Scalds, 
i Aulaff would not have ventured himself among them, 
especially on the eve of a battle (P). From the 
uniform procedure then of both these kings, we may 
: fairly conclude that the same mode of entertainment 
' prevailed among both people, and that the Minstrel 
was a privileged character with each. 

* By Bale and Spelman. See note (M). t Ibid. 

t Anno 938. Vid. Rapin, &c. 

§ So I think the name should be printed, rather than 
Anlaff the more usual form, (the same traces of the letters 
express both names in MS.,) Aulaff being evidently the 
genuine northern name Olaff, or Olave, Lat. Olaus. In the 
old romance of "Horn-Childe" (see vol. iii. p. xxxiii.) the 
name of the king his father is Allof, which is evidently Ollaf, 
■With the vowels only transposed. 



But, if these facts had never existed, it can be 
proved from undoubted records, that the Minstrel 
was a regular and stated officer in the court of our 
Anglo-Saxon kings : for in Doomesday book, Jocu- 
lator Regis, the King's Minstrel, is expressly men- 
tioned in Gloucestershire ; in which county it should 
seem that he had lands assigned him for his main- 
tenance (Q). 

III. We have now brought the inquiry down to 
the Norman Conquest ; and as the Normans had 
been a late colony from Norway and Denmark, 
where the Scalds had arrived to the highest pitch of 
credit before Rollo's expedition into France, we can- 
not doubt but this adventurer, like the other northern 
princes, had many of these men in his train, who 
settled with him in his new duchy of Normandy, 
and left behind them successors in their art : so that, 
when his descendant, William the Bastard, invaded 
this kingdom in the following century*, that mode of 
entertainment could not but be still familiar with the 
Normans. And that this is not mere conjecture will 
appear from a remarkable fact, which shows that the 
arts of poetry and song were still as reputable 
among the Normans in France, as they had been 
among their ancestors in the North ; and that the 
profession of Minstrel, like that of Scald, was still 
aspired to by the-most gallant soldiers. In William's 
army was a valiant warrior, named Taillefer, who 
was distinguished no less for the Minstrel-arts (R) 
than for his courage and intrepidity. This man 
asked leave of his commander to begin the onset, 
and obtained it. He accordingly advanced before 
the army, and with a loud voice animated his coun- 
trymen with songs in praise of Charlemagne and 
Roland, and other heroes of France ; then rushing 
among the thickest of the English, and valiantly 
fighting, lost his life. 

Indeed the Normans were so early distinguished 
for their Minstrel-talents ; that an eminent French 
writer (S) makes no scruple to refer to them the 
origin of all modern poetry, and shows that they 
were celebrated for their songs near a century before 
the Troubadours of Provence, who are supposed to 
have led the way to the Poets of Italy, France, and 
Spainf. 

We see then that the Norman conquest was rather 
likely to favour the establishment of the Minstrel 
profession in this kingdom, than to suppress it ; and 
although the favour of the Norman conquerors would 
be probably confined to such of their own country- 
men as excelled in the Minstrel arts ; and in the 
first ages after the conquest no other songs would be 
listened to by the great nobility, but such as were 
composed in their own Norman French : yet as the 
great mass of the original inhabitants were not ex- 
tirpated, these could only understand their own 
native Gleemen or Minstrels ; who must still be 
allowed to exist, unless it can be proved that they 
were all proscribed and massacred, as, it is said, the 
Welsh Bards were afterwards by the severe policy of 
king Edward I. But this we know was not the 
case ; and even the cruel attempts of that monarch, 
as we shall see below, proved ineffectual (S v 2). 



* Rollo was invested in his new duchy of Normandy, 
A.D. 912. William invaded England, A. D. 1066. 

t Vid. " Hist, des Troubadours, 3 torn." passim ; et vid. 
"Fableaux ou Contes du Xll.etdu XIII. Siecle, tradnits, 
&c. avec des Notes historiques et critiques, <Scc. par M. L« 
Grand. Paris, 1781." 5 torn. 12mo. 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



The honours shown to the Norman or French 
Minstrels, by our princes and great barons, would 
naturally have been imitated by their English vassals 
and tenants, even if no favour or distinction had 
ever been shown here to the same order of men in 
the Anglo-Saxon and Danish reigns. So that we 
cannot doubt but the English harper and songster 
would, at least in a subordinate degree; enjoy the 
same kind of honours, and be received with similar 
respect among the inferior English gentry and popu- 
lace. I must be allowed therefore to consider them 
as belonging to the same community, as subordinate 
members at least of the same college ; and therefore, 
in gleaning the scanty materials for this slight history, 
I shall collect whatever incidents I can find relating 
to Minstrels and their art, and arrange them, as they 
occur in our own annals, without distinction ; as it 
will not always be easy to ascertain, from the slight 
mention of them by our regular historians, whether 
the artists were Norman or English. For it need 
not be remarked that subjects of this trivial nature 
are but incidentally mentioned by our ancient anna- 
lists, and were fastidiously rejected by other grave 
and serious writers ; so that, unless they were acci- 
dentally connected with such events as became 
recorded in history, they would pass unnoticed 
through the lapse of ages, and be as unknown to pos- 
terity as other topics relating to the private life and 
amusements of the greatest nations. 

On this account it can hardly be expected that we 
should be able to produce regular and unbroken 
annals of the Minstrel Art and its professors, or have 
sufficient information whether every Minstrel or Har- 
per composed himself, or only repeated, the songs 
he chanted. Some probably did the one, and some 
the other : and it would have been wonderful indeed 
if men whose peculiar profession it was, and who 
devoted their time and talents to entertain their 
hearers with poetical compositions, were peculiarly 
deprived of all poetical genius themselves, and had 
been under a physical incapacity of composing those 
common popular rhimes which were the usual sub- 
jects of their recitation. Whoever examines any 
considerable quantity of these, finds them in style 
and colouring as different from the elaborate produc- 
tion of the sedentary composer at his desk or in his 
cell, as the rambling Harper or Minstrel was remote 
in his modes of life and habits of thinking from the 
retired scholar or the solitary monk (T). 

It is well known that on the Continent, whence 
our Norman nobles came, the Bard who composed, 
the Harper who played and sang, and even the Dancer 
and the Mimic, were all considered as of one com- 
munity, and were even all included under the com- 
mon name of Minstrels*. I must therefore be allowed 
the same application of the term here, without being 
expected to prove that every singer composed, or 
every composer chanted, his own song ; much less 
that every one excelled in all the arts which were 
occasionally exercised by some or other of this 
fraternity. 

IV. After the Norman Conquest, the first occur- 
rence which 1 have met with relating to this order 

of men is the founding of a priory and hospital by 
one of them : soiL the Priory and Hospital of Sfc 

Bartholomew, in Smithlield, London, by Royer or 



• See note (B) and (A a). 



Raherus the King's Minstrel, in the third year of 
King Henry I., A. D. 1102. He was the first prior 
of his own establishment, and presided over it to the I 
time of his death (T 2). 

In the reign of King Henry II. we have upon 
record the name of Galfrid or Jeffrey, a harper, who 
in 1180 received a corrody or annuity from the abbey 
of Hide near Winchester ; and, as in the early times 
every harper was expected to sing, we cannot doubt 
1 ut this reward was given to him for his music and 
his songs ; which, if they were for the solace of the 
monks there, we may conclude would be in the 
English language (U). 

Under his romantic son, King Richard I., the 
Minstrel profession seems to have acquired additional 
splendour. Richard, who was the great hero of 
chivalry, was also the distinguised patron of Poets 
and Minstrels. He was himself of their number, 
and some of his poems are still extant*. They were 
no less patronized by his favourites and chief officers. 
His chancellor, William Bishop of Ely, is expressly 
mentioned to have invited Singers and Minstrels 
from France, whom he loaded with reward; and 
they in return celebrated him as the most accom- 
plished person in the world (U 2). This high dis- 
tinction and regard, although confined perhaps in 
the first instance to Poets and Songsters of the French 
nation, must have had a tendency to do honour to 
poetry and song among all his subjects, and to 
encourage the cultivation of these arts among the 
natives ; as the indulgent favour shown by the mon- 
arch, or his great courtiers to the Provencal Trouba- 
dour, or Norman Rymour, would naturallv be imitated 
by their inferior vassals to the English Gleeman or 
Minstrel. At more than a century after the conquest, 
the national distinctions must have begun to decline, 
and both the Norman and English languages would 
be heard in the houses of the great (U3); so that 
probably about this a:ra, or soon after, we are to 
date that remarkable intercommunity and exchange 
of each other's compositions, which we discover to 
have taken place at some early period between the 
French and English Minstrels ; the same set of 
phrases, the same species of characters, incidents, 
and adventures, and often the same identical stories, 
being found in the old metrical romances of both 
nations (V). 

The distinguished service which Richard received 
from one of his own minstrels in rescuing him from 
his cruel and tedious captivity, is a remarkable fact, 
which ought to be recorded for the honour of poets 
and their art. This fact I shall relate in the follow- 
ing words of an ancient writerf. 

" The Englishmen were more than a whole yeare 
without hearing any tydings of their king, or in what 
place he was kept prisoner. He had trained up in 

* See a pathetic song of his in Mr. Walpole'a Catalogue 
of Royal Authors, vol. i. p. 5. The reader will find a trans- 
lation of it into modern French, in Hist. Literaire des Trou- 
badours, 1774, 3 torn. l'2mo. See vol. i. p. r»s, where some 
more of Richard's poetry is translated. In Dr. Barney's 
Hist of Music, vol. ii. p. 238, is a poetical version of it in 
English. 

t Mods. Favinc's Theatre of Honour and Knighthood, 
translated from the French. Lond. 10-23. fol. torn. ii. p. 40. 
An elegant relation of the same event (from the French of 
1'ie-id I'aiichel's Kecneil, &c.) may be seen in " Miscella- 
nies in pros., and verse, by Anna Williams, Lond. 1766," 
iio. p, 46. — It will excite the reader's admiration to be 
informed, that most of the pieces of that collection were 
composed under the disadvantage of a total deprivation of 
sight. 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS.' 



xvii 



bis court a Rimer or Minstrill*, called Blondell de 
Nesle : who (so saith the manuscript of old Poesiesf, 
and an auncient manuscript French Chronicle) being 
so long without the sight of his lord, his life seemed 
wearisome to him, and he became confounded with 
melancholly. Knowne it was, that he came backe 
from the Holy Land ; but none could tell in what 
countrey he arrived. Whereupon this Blondel, 
resolving to make search for him in many countries, 
but he would heare some newes of him ; after expence 
of divers dayes in travaile, he came to a towne:}: (by 
good hap) neere to the castell where his maister 
King Richard was kept. Of his host he demanded 
to whom the castell appertained, and the host told 
him, that it belonged to the Duke of Austria. Then 
he enquired whether there were any prisoners therein 
detained or no: for alwayes he made such secret 
questionings wheresoever he came. And the hoste 
gave answer, there was one onely prisoner, but he 
knew not what he was, and yet he had bin detained 
there more then the space of ayeare. When Blondel 
heard this, he wrought such meanes, that he became 
acquainted with them of the castell, as Minstrels doe 
easily win acquaintance any where§ : but see the 
king he could not, neither understand that it was he. 
One day he sat directly before a window of the castell 
where King Richard was kept prisoner, and began to 
sing a song in French, which King Richard and 
Blondel had some time composed together. When 
King Richard heard the song, he knew it was Blondel 
that sung it : and when Blondel paused at halfe of 
the song, the king ' began the other half and com- 
pleted it.||' Thus Blondel won knowledge of the 
king his maister, and returning home into England, 
made the barons of the countrie acquainted where 
the king was." This happened about the year 1193. 
The following old Provencal lines are given as 
the very original song^f ; which 1 shall accompany 
with an imitation offered by Dr. Burney, ii. 237. 



* Favine's words are, "Jongleur appelle Blondiaux de 
Nesle." Paris, 1620. 4to, p. 1106. But Fauchet, who has 
given the same story, thus expresses it, " Or ce roy ayant 
nourri un Menestrel appelle Blondel," &c. liv. 2. p. 92. 
" Des anciens Poetes Francois," — He is however said to 
have been another Blondel, not Blondel (or Blondiaux) de 
Nesle; but this no way affects the circumstances of the story. 
t This the Author calls in another place, " An ancient 
MS. of old Poesies, written about those very times." — 
From this MS. Favine gives a good account of the taking 
of Richard by the Duke of Austria, who sold him to the 
Emperor. As for the MS. chronicle, it is evidently the 
same that supplied Fauchet with this story. See his " Re- 
cueil de l'Origine de la Langue et Poesie Francoise. Ryme, 
et Romans," ike. Par. 1581. 

% Tribales. — " Retrudi eum praecepit in Triballis : a quo 
carcere nullus ante dies istos exivit." Lat. Chron. of Otho 
of Austria : apud Favin. 

§ " Cvinme Menestrels s'accointentlegerement." Favine. 
Fauchet expresses it in the same manner. 

|| I give this passage corrected ; as the English translator 
of Favine's book appeared here to have mistaken the ori- 
ginal : — Scil. " Et quant Blondel eut dit la moitie de la 
Chanson, le roy Richard se prist a dire l'autre moitie et 
l'acheva." Favine, p. 1106. Fauchet has also expressed it 
in nearly the same words. Recueil, p. 93. 

f In a little romance or novel, entitled, " La Tour Tene- 
breuses,et les Jours Lumiueux, Contes Angloises, accompag- 
nez d'historiettes, et tirezd'uneancienne chronique composee 
par Richard, surnomme Coeur de Lion, Roy* d'Angleterre," 
&c. Paris 1705. 12mo. — In the preface to this romance the 
Editor has given another song of Blondel de Nesle, as also 
a copy of the song written by King Richard, and published 
by Mr. Walpole, mentioned above, yet the two last are not 
in Piovei-val like the sonnet printed here ; but in the old 
French, called Language Roman. 



Domna vostra beutas 
Elas bellas laissos 
Els bels oils amoros 
Els gens cors ben taillats 
Don sieu empresenats 



Your beauty, lady fair, 
None views without delight ; 
But still so cold an air 
No passion can excite : 
Yet this 1 patient see 



De vostra aino qui mi lia. While all are shun'd like me. 



Si bel trop affansia 
Ja de vos non portrai 
Que major honorai 
Sol en votra denian 
Que sautra des beisan 
Tot can de vos volria 



No nymph my heart can wound 

]f favour she divide 

A nd smiles on all around 

Unwilling to decide : 

I'd rather hatred bear 

Than love with others share. 



The access which Blondel so readily obtained in 
the privileged character of a Minstrel, is not the only 
instance upon record of the same nature (V 2). 
In this very reign of King Richard I. the young 
heiress of D'Evereux, Earl of Salisbury, had been 
carried abroad and secreted by her French relations 
in Normandy. To discover the place of her con- , 
cealmen*-, a knight of the Talbot family spent two 
years in exploring that province, at first under the 
disguise of a pilgrim ; till having found where she 
was confined, in order to gain admittance he assumed 
the dress and character of a harper, and being a 
jocose person exceedingly skilled in the " gests of 
the ancients* ;" so they called the romances and 
stories which were the delight of that age ; he was 
gladly received into the family. Whence he took an 
opportunity to carry off the young lady, whom he 
presented to the king ; and he bestowed her on his 
natural brother William Longespee, (son of fair 
Rosamond), who became in her right Earl of Salis- 
bury (V 3). 

The next memorable event which I find in history 
reflects credit on the English Minstrels : and this 
was their contributing to the rescue of one of the 
great Earls of Chester, when besieged by the Welsh. 
This happened in the reign of King John, and is 
related to this effect t. 

" Hugh, the first Earl of Chester, in his charter 
of foundation of St. Warburg's Abbey in that city, 
had granted such a privilege to those who should 
come to Chester fair, that they should not be then 
apprehended for theft or any other misdemeanour, 
except the crime were committed during the fair. 
This special protection occasioning a multitude of 
loose people to resort to that fair, was afterwards of 
signal benefit to one of his successors. ForRanulph 
the last Earl of Chester, marching into Wales with 
a slender attendance, was constrained to retire to 
his castle of Rothelan, (or Rhuydland,) to which 
the W T elsh forthwith laid siege. In this distress he 
sent for help to the Lord de Lacy, constable of 
Chester : ' Who, making use of the Minstrells of all 
sorts, then met at Chester fair : by the allurement 
of their musick, got together a vast number of such 
loose people as, by reason of the before specified privi- 
ledge, were then in that city ; whom he forthwith 
sent under the conduct .of Dutton, (his steward,) a 
gallant youth, who was also his son-in-law. The 
Welsh, alarmed at the approach of this rabble, sup- 



* The words of the original, viz. " Citharisator homo joco- 
sus in Gestis antiquorum valde peritus," I conceive to give 
the precise idea of the ancient Minstrel. See note ("V 2.) 
That Gesta was appropriated to romantic stories, see note 
(I) Part IV (1.) 

t SeeDugdale, Bar. i. 42, 101. who places it after 13 
John, A. D". 1212. See also Plot's Statfordsh. Camden's 
Britanu. (Cheshire,) 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



posing them to be a regular body of armed and 
disciplined veterans, instantly raised the siege and 
retired." 

For this good service Ranulph is said to have 
granted to De Lacy, by charter, the patronage and 
authority over the Minstrels and the loose and 
interior people : who, retaining to himself that of the 
lower artificers, conferred on Dutton the jurisdic- 
tion of the Minstrels and Harlots* : and under the 
descendants of this family the Minstrels enjoyed 
certain privileges, and protection for many ages. For 
even so late as the reign of Elizabeth, when this pro- 
fession had fallen into such discredit that it was con- 
sidered in law as a nuisance, the Minstrels under the 
jurisdiction of the family of Dutton, are expressly 
excepted out of all acts of parliament made for their 
suppression ; and have continued to be so excepted 
ever since (W). 

The ceremonies attending the exercise of this ju- 
risdiction are thus described by Dugdalcf , as handed 
down to his time, viz. " That at midsummer fair 
there, all the Minstrels of that country resorting to 
Chester do attend the heir of Dutton, from his 
lodging to St. John's Church, (he being then accom- 
panied by many gentlemen of the countrey,) one of 
' the Minstrels' walking before him in a surcoat of his 
arms depicted on taffata ; the rest of his fellows pro- 
ceeding (two and two) and playing on their several 
sorts of musical instruments. And after divine 
service ended, give the like attendance on him back 
to his lodging ; where a court being kept by his 
[Mr.Dutton's] steward, and all the Minstrels formally 
called, certain orders and laws are usually made for 
the better government of that society, with penalties 
on those who transgress." 

In the same reign of King John we have a remark- 
able instance of a Minstrel, who to his other talents 
superadded the character of soothsayer, and by his 
skill in drugs and medicated potions was able to 
rescue a knight from imprisonment. This occurs in 
Leland's Narrative of the Gestes of Guarine (or 
Warren) and his sons, which he " excerptid owte of 
an old Englisch boke yn ryme}," and is as follows : 

W'hitington Castle in Shropshire, which together 
with the coheiress of the original proprietor had been 
won in a solemn turnament by the ancestor of the 
GuarinesvJ, had in the reign of King John been seized 
by the Prince of Wales, and was afterwards possessed 
by Morice, a retainer of that prince, to whom the 
king, out of hatred to the true heir Fulco Guarine, 
(with whom he had formerly had a quarrel at chess||,) 
not only confirmed the possession, but also made him 
governor of the marches, of which Fulco himself had 
the custody in the time of King Richard. The 
Gnaxmes demanded justice of the king, but obtaining 



• Seethe ancient record in Blount's Law Dictionary. (Alt. 
Minstrel.) 

« Bar. i. p. 101. 

X Leland's Collectanea, vol. i. pages 261, 2«<;, 2«7. 

§ Tli i» old feudal custom ofmairj ing an heireas to the knight 

who should vanquish .ill Ins opponents in solemn COUteSt, <.Vc. 

appears o> i>. bnrlesqued io the Tdrnament of Totenham, 
as Is well observed bj the learned author. 

ol Remarks, && in Gent Mag. tor July, 1701, p. SIS. 

|| "John, sun to Kim; Henry, and l-'uleo telle at variance 

at Obestes [r. Cht-sac] ; and John brake Poloo ['a] bed with 
the cheal borde rand then Fulco gave him such a blow, that 

he had almost killid hym." (LeL Coll. i. p. 264 ) \ curious 

picture ot courtly manners In th.it age I Notwithstanding 

this fray, we read in Ho- Dl -\t paragraph, that " King Henry 

dubbid Folcu & 3 of his bretherne Knighteiat Winchester.' 

Ibid. 



no gracious answer, renounced their allegiance and 
fled into Bretagne. Returning into England after 
various conflicts, " Fulco resortid to one John of 
Raumpayne, a Sothsayer and Jocular and Minstrelle, 
and made hym his spy to Morice at Whitington." 
The privileges of this character we have already 
seen, and John so well availed himself of them, that 
in consequence of the intelligence which he doubtless 
procured, " Fulco and his brethrene laide waite for 
Morice, as he went toward Salesbyri, and Fulco ther 
woundid hym : and Bracy," a knight who was their 
friend and assistant, " cut of Morice['s] hedde." 
This Sir Bracy being in a subsequent rencounter sore 
wounded, was taken and brought to King John ; from 
whose vengeance he was however rescued by this 
notable Minstrel ; for " John Rampayne founde the 
meanes to cast them, that kepte Bracy, into a deadely 
slepe ; and so he and Bracy cam to Fulco to Whit- 
ington," which on the death of Morice had been 
restored to him by the Prince of Wales. As no fur- 
ther mention occurs of the Minstrel, I might h re 
conclude this narrative ; but I shall just add that 
Fulco was obliged to flee into France, where, assum- 
ing the name of Sir Amice, he distinguished himself 
in justs and tournaments ; and, after various roman- 
tic adventures by sea and land ; having in the true 
style of chivalry rescued " certayne ladies owt of 
prison ;" he finally obtained the king's pardon, and 
the quiet possession of Whitington Castle. 

In the reign of King Henry III., we have mention 
of Master Ricard the King's Harper, to whom in his 
thirty-sixth year (1252) that monarch gave not only 
forty shillings and a pipe of wine, but also a pipe of 
wine to Beatrice his wife*. The title of Magister, or 
Master given to this Minstrel deserves notice, and 
shows his respectable situation. 

V. The Harper, or Minstrel, was so necessary an 
attendant on a royal personage, that Prince Edward 
(afterwards King Edward I.) in his crusade to the 
Holy Land, in 1271 , w T as not without his Harper : who 
must have been officially very near his person ; as 
we are told by a contemporary historianf, that, in 
the attempt to assassinate that heroic prince, when 
he had wrested the poisoned knife out of the Sara- 
zen's hand, and killed him with his own weapon ; 
the attendants, who had stood apart while he was 
whispering to their master, hearing the struggle, ran 
to his assistance, and one of them, to wit his Harper, 
seizing a tripod or trestle, struck the assassin on the 
head and beat out his brains}. And though the 
prince blamed him for striking the man after he was 
dead, yet his near access shows the respectable situa- 
tion of this officer ; and his affectionate zeal should 
have induced Edward to entreat his brethren the 
Welsh Bards afterwards with more lenity. 



• Barney's Hist. ii. p. 355.— Rot. Pip. An. 36, H. III. 
" Kt in uno dolio vini empto & dato Magistro Ricardo Ci- 
tharisuv Regis, kl. sol. per br. Reg. Et in nno dolio empto 
\ data Beatrici asori ejusdem Ricardi." 

t Walter Iloiiiminutoid, (\i\it temp. Edw. I.) in Chronic, 
cap. 35, inter V. Hist. Aug. Scriptores, vol. ii. Oxon. IGST 
fol. pag. 891. 

X " Accnrrentes ad bffiC Minis ii ejus, qni a longe steterunt, 
invcnoruiil cum [soil. Nuntimn] in terra inortniim, et appre- 
heudit onus eoruin tiipodem, scilicet ( itharala suns, Ik per- 

cu.-sit earn incapitc,etetFondltcerebramejas. Increpavitqae 
earn Edwardusqaod bounineni niorninm percussisse ." Ibid. 
These IMini.-iri must have been upon a very confidential foot- 
ing, as it appears above in the same chapter, that they had 
been made acquainted with the contents of the letters which 
the assassin had delivered to the prince from his master. 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



Whatever was the extent of this great monarch's 
severity towards the professors of music and of song 
in Wales ; whether the executing by martial law 
such of them as fell into his hands was only during 
the heat of conflict, or was continued afterwards with 
more systematic rigour* ; yet in his own court the 
Minstrels appear to have been highly favoured : 
for when, in 1306, he conferred the order of 
knighthood on his son and many others of the young 
nobility, a multitude of Minstrels were introduced to 
invite and induce the new knights to make some mi- 
litary vow (X). And 

Under the succeeding reign of King Edward II., 
such extensive privileges were claimed by these men, 
and by dissolute persons assuming their character, 
that it became a matter of public grievance, and was 
obliged to be reformed by an express regulation in 
A. D. 1315 (Y). Notwithstanding which, an inci- 
dent is recorded in the ensuing year, which shows 
that Minstrels still retained the liberty of entering at 
will into the royal presence, and had something pe- 
culiarly splendid in their dress. It is thus related by 
Stow (Z). 

" In the year 1316, Edward the Second did solem- 
nize his feast of Pentecost at Westminster, in -the 
great hall : where sitting royally at the table with 
his peers about him, there entered a woman adorned 
like a Minstrel, sitting on a great horse trapped, as 
Minstrels then used ; who rode round about the 
tables, shewing pastime ; and at length came up to 
the king's table, and laid before him a letter, and 
forthwith turning her horse saluted every one and 
departed." The subject of this letter was a remon- 
strance to the king on the favours heaped by him on 
his minions, to the neglect of his knights and faithful 
servants. 

The privileged character of a Minstrel was em- ' 
ployed on this occasion, as sure of gaining an easy 
admittance ; and a female the rather deputed to as- 
sume k, that, in case of detection, her sex might 
disarm the king's resentment. This is offered on a 
supposition that she was not a real Minstrel ; for 
there should seem to have been women of this pro- 
fession (A a), as well as of the other sex ; and no 
accomplishment is so constantly attributed to females, 
by our ancient bards, as their singing to, and playing 
on, the harp (A a 2). 

In the fourth year of King Richard II., John of 
Gaunt erected at Tutbury in Staffordshire, a court 
of Minstrels, similar to that annually kept at Ches- 
ter and which, like a court-leet or court baron, 
had a legal jurisdiction, with full power to re- 
ceive suit and service from the men of this profession 
within five neighbouring counties, to enact laws, and 
determine their controversies ; and to apprehend and 
arrest such of them as should refuse to appear at the 
said court annually held on the 16th of August. 
For this they had a charter, by which they were em- 
powered to appoint a King of the Minstrels with 
four officers to preside over them (B b). These 
were every year elected with great ceremony ; 
the whole form of which, as observed in 1680, is 
described by Dr. Plot* : in whose time however they 



* See Gray's Ode ; and the Hist, of theGwedir Family in 

Miscellanies by the Hod. Daines Barrington," 1781, 4to. 

p. 386 ; who in the Laws, &c. of this monarch could find no 

instances of severity against the Welsh. See his observations 

on the Statutes, 4to. 4th. edit. p. 358. 

t Hist, of Staffordshire, ch 10, § 69—76, p. 433 et seqq. of 



appear to have lost their singing talents, and to 
have confined all their skill to " wind and string 
music*." 

The Minstrels seem to have been in many respects 
upon the same footing as the heralds : and the King 
of the Minstrels, like the king at arms, was both here 
and on the Continent an usual officer in the courts of 
princes. Thus we have in the reign of King Ed- 
ward I. mention of a King Robert and others. And 
in 16 Edward II. is a grant to William de Morlee 
"the King's Minstrel, styled Roy de North\," of 
houses which had belonged to another king, John le 
Boteler (B b 2). Rymer hath also printed a licence 
granted by King Richard II. in 1387, to John Caumz, 
the King of his Minstrels, to pass the seas, recom- 
mending him to the protection and kind treatment of 
all his subjects and allies J. 

In the subsequent reign of King Henry IV. we 
meet with no particulars relating to the Minstrels in 
England, but we find in the Statute Book a severe 
law passed against their brethren the Welsh Bards ; 
whom our ancestors could not distinguish from their 
own Rimours Ministralx ; for by these names they 
describe them (B b 3). This act plainly shews, 
that far from being extirpated by the rigorous policy 
of King Edward L, this order of men were still able 
to alarm the English government, which attributed 
to them " many diseases and mischiefs in Wales," 
and prohibited their meetings and contributions. 

When his heroic son King Henry V. was pre- 
paring his great voyage for France, in 1415, an 
express order was given for his Minstrels, fifteen in 
number to attend him§ : and eighteen are afterwards 
mentioned, to each of whom he allowed xii d. a day, 
when that sum must have been of more than ten times 
the value it is at present||. Yet when he entered 
London in triumph after the battle of Agincourt, he, 
from a principle of humility, slighted the pageants 
and verses which were prepared to hail his return ; 
and, as we are told by Holingshed^f, would not suffer 
" any dities to be made and song by Minstrels, of Yis 
glorious victorie ; for that he would whollie have the 
praise and thankes altogether given to God" (Bb4). 
But this did not proceed from any disregard for the 
professors of music or of song ; for at the feast of 
Pentecost, which he celebrated in 1416, having the 



which see Extracts in Sir J. Hawkins's Hist, of Music, vol. 
ii. p. 64; and Dr. Burney's Hist. vol. ii. p. 360 et seqq. 

N. B. The barbarous diversion of bull-running was no 
part of the original institution, &c. as is fully proved by the 
Rev. Dr. Pegge, in Archaeologia, vol. ii. no. xiii. page 86. 

* See the charge given by the Steward, at the time of 
the election, in Plot's Hist, ubi supra ; and in Hawkins, p. 
67. Burney, p. 363-4. 

+ So among the Heralds Norrey was anciently styled Roy 
d'Armes de North. (Anstis, ii. 300.) And the Kings at Amies 
in general w< re originally called Reyes Heraldorum, (Ibid, 
p. 302,) as tr ese were Reges Minstrcdlorwm. 

X Rymer'i Fcedera, torn. vii. p. 555. 

$ Rym'r, ix. 255. ]| Ibid. p. 260. 

IF See nis Chronicle, sub anno 1415, p. 1170. He also 
gives this other instance of the king's great modesty, "that 
he wejld not suffer his helmet to be carried with him, and 
shewed to the people, that they might behold the dintes and 
cuttes whiche appeared in the same, of such blowes and stripes 
as hee received the daye of the battell." Ibid. Vid. T. de 
Elmham, c. 29, p. 72. 

The prohibition against vain and secular songs would pro- 
bably not include that inserted in Series the Second Book I, 
No. V., which would be considered as a hymn. The origina. 
notes engraven on a plate at the end of the vol. may be seen 
reduced and set to score in Mr. Stafford Smith's " Collection 
of English Songs for three and four Voices," and in Dr. 
Burney's Hist, of Music, ii. p. 384. 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



Emperor and the Duke of Holland for his quests, he 
ordered rich gowns for sixteen of his Minstrels, of 
which the particulars are preserved by Rymer*. 
And having before his death orally granted an an- 
nuitvof one hundred shillings to each of his Minstrels, 
the grant was confirmed in the first year of his son 
King Henrv VI. A. D. 1423, and payment ordered 
out of the Exchequerf. 

The unfortunate reign of King Henry VI., affords 
no occurrences respecting our subject ; but in his 
34th vear, A.D. 1456, we have in Rymerf a com- 
mission for impressing boys or youths, to supply 
vacancies by death among the King's Minstrels : in 
which it is expressly directed that they shall be 
elegant in their limbs, as well as instructed in the 
Minstrel art, wherever they can be found, for the 
solace of his majesty. 

In the following reign, King Edward IV., (in his 
9th year, 1469,) upon a complaint that certain rude 
husbandmen and artificers of various trades had 
assumed the title and livery of the King's Minstrels 
and under that colour and pretence had collected 
monev in diverse parts of the kingdom, and committed 
other disorders, the king grants to Walter Haliday, 
Marshal, and to seven others his own Minstrels 
whom he names, a charter^, by which he creates, or 
rather restores, a fraternity or perpetual gild (such 
as, he understands, the brothers and sisters of the 
fraternity of Minstrels had in times past) to be 
governed by a Marshall appointed for life, and by 
two Wardens to be chosen annually ; who are im- 
powered to admit brothers and sisters into the said 
gild, and are authorized to examine the pretensions 
of all such as affected to exercise the Minstrel pro- 
fession ; and to regulate, govern, and punish them 
throughout the realm (those of Chester excepted). — 
This seems to have some resemblance to the Earl 
Marshal's court among the heralds, and is another 
proof of the great affidity and resemblance which 
the Minstrels bore to the members of the College of 
Arms. 

It is remarkable that Walter Haliday, whose name 
occurs as marshal in the foregoing charter, had been 
retained in the service of the two preceding monarchs 
King Henry V.|| and Vlf . Nor is this the first 
time he is mentioned as Marshal of the King's Min- 
strels, for in the third year of this reign, 1464, 
he had a grant from King Edward of 10 marks 
per annum during life, directed to him with that 
title** . 

But besides their Marshal we have also in this 
reign mention of a Sergeant of the Minstrels, who 
upon a particular occasion was able to do his royal 
master a singular service, wherein his confidential 
situation and ready access to the kin^ at all hours is 
very apparent : for "as he [King Edward IV.] was 
in the north contra? in the monneth of Septembre, 
as he lay in his bedde, onenamid Alexander Carlile, 
that was Sariaunt of the Mynstrellis, cam to him in 
grete hast, and badde hym aryse for he hadde eue- 



• Tom. ix.336. 

( Rymer, torn. x. *287. They are mentioned by name, 

being ten in number : one of tliem was named Thomas 
Chatterton. 

I Tom. xi. 375. 

§ See it in Rymer, torn. xi. fi»'2, and in Sir J. Hawkins, 
vol. iv. p. B60. Note. The above Chattel 1b recited in let ten 

patent of Ring Charlea I. 15 July, u A Regni.) for .■ 

Corporation of Musicians, &c. in Westminster, which may 
be seen ibid. 

! Rymer, is. 355. f ibid. xi. 375 •• ibid \i. is 



myes cummyng for to take him, the which were 
within vi. or vii. mylis, of the which tydinges the 
king gretely marveylid, &c.*" This happened in 
the same year, 1469, wherein the king granted or 
confirmed the charter for the fraternity or gild above 
mentioned ; yet this Alexander Carlile is not one of 
the eight Minstrels to whom that charter is directedf. 
The same charter was renewed by King Henry 
VIII. in 1520, to John Gilman, his then marshal, 
and to seven others his Minstrels^: and on the 
death of Gilman, he granted in 1529 this office of 
Marshal of his Minstrels to Hugh WodehouseS. 
whom I take to have borne the office of his serjeam 
over them||. 

VI. In all the establishments of royal and noble 
households, we find an ample provision made for the 
i Minstrels ; and their situation to have been both ho- 
I nourable and lucrative. In proof of this it is suffi- 
cient to refer to the household book of the Earl ol 
Northumberland, A.D. 1512 (C c). And the rewards 
they received so frequently recur in ancient writers 
that it is unnecessary to crowd the page with them 
here (C c 2). 

The name of Minstrel seems however to have been 
gradually appropriated to the musician only, espe- 
cially in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries ; yet 
we occasionally meet with applications of the term in 
its more enlarged meaning, as including the Singer, 
if not the composer, of heroic or popular rhymes^. 

In the time of Kimg Henry VIII., we find it to 
have been a common entertainment to hear verses 
recited, or moral speeches learned for that purposes 
by a set of men who got their livelihood by repeating 
them, and who intruded without ceremony into all 
companies ; not only in taverns, but in the houses 
of the nobility themselves. This we learn from 
Erasmus, whose argument led him only to describe 
a species of these men who did not sing their com- 
positions ; but the others that did, enjoyed, without 
doubt, the same privileges (D d). 

For even long after, in the reign of Queen Eliza- 
beth, it was usual " in places of assembly" for the 
company tr be " desirous to heare of old adventures 
and valiaunces of noble knights in times past, as 
those of King Arthur, and his knights of the round 
table, Sir Bevys of Southampton, Guv of Warwicke 
and others like" in " short and long meetres, and by 
breaches or divisions, [so. Fits**] to be morecommo- 
diously sung to the harpe" as the reader may be 
informed by a courtlv writer, in 1589ft. Who him- 
self had " written for pleasure a little briefe romance 



• Here unfortunately ends a curious fragment, (an. 9 K 
I \ ad calcem Sprotti Cbron. Ed. Hearne. Oxon. 17 19, 8vo. 
Vid. T. Warton's Hist. ii. p. 134. Note (c). 

1 li.MiiiT, xi. 642, J ibid, xiii. 705. 

$ Rj mer, torn. xiv. 2, 03. 

|| So I am inclined to understand the term Serviens nnster 
Hugo Wodthotu, in the original grant. (See Rymer ubi 
supra.) It is needless to observe that Servient expressed a 
Serjeant ;i> w<ll a- a servant, [f this interpretation of Ser- 
vient be allowed, it will account for bis placing Wodehouse 
at il'< head of bis gild, although he bad not been one of the 
elghl minstrels who had had the general direction. The 

Serjeant <•! in- Minstrels, we may presume, was next indig- 
nity to the Marshal, although h<- bad no share lathe gov er..- 

iik ut of the uild. 

" Si e below , and note ( (1 g). 

•• See \ ( .l. ii page 174. 

ft 1'iiid i.haiii in his " Arte of English Poesie," 1580, 4lo 
,.. 33. 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



or historicall ditty. . . .of the Isle of Great Britaine" 
in order to contribute to such entertainment. And 
he subjoins this caution : " Such as have not pre- 
monition hereof," (viz. that his poem was written in 
short metre, &c. to be sung to the harp in such 
places of assembly,) " and consideration of the causes 
alledged, would peradventure reprove and disgrace 
every romance, or short historicall ditty, for that 
they be not written in long meeters or verses Alex- 
andras," which constituted the prevailing versifi- 
cation among the poets of that age, and which no 
one now can endure to read. 

And that the recital of such romances sung to the 
harp was at that time the delight of the common 
people, we are told by the same writer*, who men- 
tions that " common rimers," were fond of using 
rimes at short distances, " in small and popular 
musickes song by these Cantabanqui" [the said com- 
mon rimers] " upon benches and barrels heads," &c. 
" or else by blind Harpers or such like Taverne 
Minstrels that give a fit of mirth for a groat ; and 
their matter being for the most part stories of old 
time, as the tale of Sir Topas, the reportes of Bevis 
of Southampton, Guy of Warwicke, Adam Bell, 
and Clymme of the Clough, and such other oid 
romances, or historicall rimes," &c. " also they be 
used in carols and rounds, and such light or lasci- 
vious poemes, which are commonly more commo- 
diously uttered by these buffons, or vices in playes, 
then by any other person. Such were the rimes of 
Skelton (usurping the name of a Poet Laureat) being 
in deede but a rude railing rimer, and all his doings 
ridiculoust." 

But although we find here that the Minstrels had 
lost much of their dignity, and were sinking into 
contempt and neglect : yet that they still sustained 
a character far superior to any thing we can conceive 
at present of the singers of old ballads, I think, may 
be inferred from the following representation. 

When Queen Elizabeth was entertained at Kil- 
lingworth Castle by the Earl of Leicester in 1575, 
among the many devices and pageants which were 
contrived for her entertainment, one of the personages 
introduced was to have been that of an ancient 
Minstrel ; whose appearance and dress are so minutely 
described by a writer there present^, and gives us so 
distinct an idea of the character, that I shall quote 
the passage at large (E e.) 

" A person very meet seemed he for the purpose, 

of a xlv years old, apparelled partly as he would 

himself. His cap off: his head seemly rounded 

tonsterwise§ : fair kembed, that with a sponge 

, daintily dipt in a little capon's greace was finely 

smoothed, to make it shine like a mallard's wing. 

His beard smugly shaven : and yet his shirt after 

the new trink, with ruffs fair starched, sleeked and 

i glistering like a pair of new shoes, marshalled in 

' good order with a setting stick, and strut, that every 

; ruff stood up like a wafer. A side [i. e. long] gown 

of Kendal green, after the freshness of the year now, 



• Puttenham, &c. p. 69. 

t Puttenham, &c. p. 69. 

X See a very curious " Letter: whearin, part of the enter- 
tainment untoo the Queenz Maiesty, at Killingwoorth Castl, 
in Warwick Sheer, in this soomerz progress 1575, iz signi- 
fied," &c. bl. 1. 4to. vid. p. 46 & seqq. (Printed in Nichols's 
Collection of Queen Elizabeth's Progresses. &c. in two vols. 
4to.) We have not followed above the peculiar and affected 
orthography of this writer, who was named Ro. Laneham, or 
rather Langham ; see p. 84. 

§ I suppose " tonsure-wise" after the manner of the Monks. 



gathered at the neck with a narrow gorget, fastened 
afore with a white clasp and a keeper close up to the 
chin ; but easily, for heat to undo when he list. 
Seemly begirt in a red caddis girdle : from that a 
pair of capped Sheffield knives hanging a two sides. 
Out of his bosom drawn forth a lappet of his napkin* 
edged with a blue lace, and marked with a true love, 
a heart, and a D for Damian, for he was but a bat- 
chelor yet. 

" His gown had side [i. e, long] sleeves down to 
mid-leg, slit from the shoulder to the hand, and 
lined with white cotton. His doublet-sleeves of 
black worsted : upon them a pair of poynetsf of 
tawny chamlet laced along the wrist with blue 
threaden points, a wealt towards the hand of fustian- 
a-napes. A pair of red neather stocks. A pair of 
pumps on his feet, with a cross cut at the toes for 
corns : not new indeed, yet cleanly blackt with soot, 
and shining as a shoing horn. 

" About his neck a red ribband suitable to his girdle. 
His harp in good grace dependent before him. His 
wrest}: tyed to a green lace and hanging by. Under 
the gorget of his gown a fair flaggon chain (pewter§, 
for) silver, as a Squire Minstrel of Middlesex, that 
travelled the country this summer season, unto fairs 
and worshipful mens houses. From his chain hung 
a scutcheon, with metal and colour, resplendant upon 
his breast, of the ancient arms of Islington. " 

This Minstrel is described as belonging to that 
village. I suppose such as were retained by noble 
families wore the arms of their patrons hanging 
down by a silver chain as a kind of badgej|. From 
the expression of Squire Minstrel above, we may 
conclude there were other inferior orders, as Yeomen 
Minstrels, or the like. 

This Minstrel, the author tells us a little below, 
" after three lowly courtsies, cleared his voice with a 
hem .... and .... wiped his lips with the hollow of 
his hand for 'filling his napkin, tempered a string or 
two with his wrest, and after a little warbling on his 
harp for a prelude, came forth with a solemn song, 
warranted for story out of King Arthur's acts, &c." 
— This song the reader will find printed in this 
work. 

Towards the end of the sixteenth century this class 
of men had lost all credit, and were sunk so low in 
the public opinion, that in the 39th year of Elizabeth^]", 
a statute was passed by which " Minstrels, wandering 
abroad," were included among " rogues, vagabonds, 
and sturdy beggars," and were adjudged to be pu- 



* i. e. hankerchief. So in Shakspear's Othello, passim. 

t Perhaps, points. 

X The key, or screw, with which he tuned his harp. 

§ The reader will remember that this was not a real Min 
strel, but only one personating that character ; his ornaments | 
therefore were only such as outwardly represented those of a j 
real Minstrel. 

|| As the House of Northumberland had anciently three ' 
Minstrels attending on them in their castles in Yorkshire, so 
they still retain three in their service in Northumberland, 
who wear the badge of the family, (a silver crescent on the 
right arm,) and are thus distributed, viz. One for the barony 
of Prudhoe, and two for the barony of Rothbury. These 
attend the court leets and fairs held for the lord, and pay 
their annual suit and service at Alnwick Castle; their instru- 
ment being the ancient Northumberland bagpipe (very 
different in form and execution from that of the Scots ; being 
smaller, and blown, not with the breath, but with a small 
pair of bellows). 

This with many other venerable customs of the ancient 
Lord Percys, was revived by their illustrious representatives 
the late Duke and Duchess of Northumberland. 

IT Anno Dom, 1597. Vid Pult. Stat. p. 1U0, 39° Ehz. 



AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 



nished as such. This act seems to have put an end 
to the profession (E e '2). 

VII. I cannot conclude this account of the ancient 
English Minstrels, without remarking that they are 
most of them represented to have been of the North 
of England. There is scarce an old historical song or 
ballad (F f) wherein a Minstrel or Harper appears, 
but he is characterized by way of eminence to have 
been "of the North Countrye :" and indeed the pre- 
valence of the northern dialect in such compositions, 
shews that this representation is real*. On the other 
hand the scene of the finest Scottish ballads is laid 
in the south of Scotland ; which should seem to 
have been peculiarly the nursery of Scottish Minstrels, 
In the old song of Maggy Lawder, a piper is asked, 
by way of distinction, " come ze frae the Border \V 
The martial spirit constantly kept up and exercised 
near the frontier of the two kingdoms, as it furnished 
continual subjects for their songs, so it inspired the 
inhabitants of the adjacent counties on both sides 
with the powres of poetry. Besides, as our southern 



• Giraldus Cambrensis, writing in the reign of King Henry 
II, mentions a very extraordinary habit or propensity, which 
then prevailed in the North of England, beyond the Humber, 
for " symphonions harmony" or singing " in two parts, the 
one murmuring in the base, and the other warbling in the 
acute or treble." (I use Dr. Burney's Version, vol. ii. p. 
108.) This he describes, as practised by their very children 
from the cradle ; and he derives it from the Danes [So Daci 
signifies in our old writers] and Norwegians, who long over- 
ran and in effect new-peopled the Northern parts of England, 
where alone this manner of singing prevailed. (Vide Cam- 
brian Descriptio, cap. 13. and in Burney ubi supra.) — Giral- 
dus is probably right as to the origin or derivation of this 
practice, for the Danish and Icelandic Scalds had carried 
the arts of Poetry and Singing to great perfection at the 
time the Danish settlements were made in the North. And 
it will also help to account for the superior skill and fame of 
our northern Minstrels and Harpers afterwards : who had 
preserved and transmitted the arts of their Scaldic ances- 
tors. See Northern Antiquities, vol. i. c. 13, p. 386, and 
Five Pieces of Runic Poetry, 1763, 8vo.— Compare the 
original passage in Giraldus, as given by Sir John Hawkins, 
i. 408, and by Dr. Burney, ii. 108, who are both at a loss to 
account for this peculiarity, and therefore doubt the fact. 
The credit of Giraldus, which hath been attacked by some 
partial and bigoted a nt iquarios, the reader will imd defended 

in ih t learned and curious work, " Antiquities of Ireland, by 
Edward Ledwich, LL.D. &c. Dublin, 1790,"4to, p. 207 & seqq. 
f This line being quoted from memory, and given as old 
Scottish Poetry is now an lly printed, would have been 
readilj corrected by the cops published iii " Scottish Songs, 
1794," '2 vols, I2mo. i. p. V(i7, thus, (though apparently cor- 
rupted from the Scottish Idiom,) 

" Live you upo' the Border >." 
had not all confidence been destroyed by its being altered in 
the "Historical Essay" prefixed to that publication (p. ex.) to 

" Ye live upo' the Border. 
.he better to favour a position, that many of the pipers 
" might live upon the border, tor theconveniency of attend- 
ing i-iirs, &c. in both kingdoms." Hut whoever is acquainted 
with that pari Of England, knows that on the English 
frontier, rude mountains and barren wastes reach almost 

Bcrosi tin' island, scarceij inhabited by any but solitary 
shepherds ; many "i whom durst not venture into 1w oppo 
rite bonier on sccount "i the ancient feuds and subsequent 

disputes c :ernlngthe Debatable Lands, which separated 

tin boundaries of the two kingdoms, as well s the estates 
«.t the two great families "i IVi.v and Douglas; till these 
disputes were settled, not many years ilnee, by arbitration 

between ibe vrtMnt Lord Douglas and the late Duke and 

Duchess ot Northumberland. 



metropolis must have been ever the scene of noveltv 
and refinement, the northern countries, as being 
most distant, would preserve their ancient manners 
longest, and of course the old poetry, in which those 
manners are peculiarly described. 

The reader will observe in the more ancient bal- | 
lads of this collection, a cast of style and measure 
very different from that of contemporary poets of a 
higher class ; many phrases and idioms, which the 
Minstrels seem to have appropriated to themselves, 
and a very remarkable licence of varying the Recent 
of words at pleasure, in order to humour the flow of 
the verse, particularly in the rhimes ; as 

Countrie harper battel morning 
Ladte singer damsel loving, 

instead of country, lady, harper, singer, 6cc. — This 
liberty is but sparingly assumed by the classical 
poets of the same age ; or even by the latter com- 
posers of heroical ballads ; I mean, by such as 
professedly wrote for the press. For it is to be ob- 
served, that so long as the Minstrels subsisted, they 
seem never to have designed their rhimes for lite- 
rary publication, and probably never committed them 
to writing themselves : what copies are preserved of 
them were doubtless taken down from their mouths. 
But as the old Minstrels gradually wore out, a new 
race of ballad-writers succeeded, an inferior sort of 
minor poets, who wrote narrative songs merely for 
the press. Instances of both may be found in the 
reign of Elizabeth. The two latest pieces iu the 
genuine strain of the old minstrelsy that I can 
discover, are No. III. and IV. of Book III. 
Series the First. Lower than these I cannot trace 
the old mode of writing. 

The old Minstrel ballads are in the northern dia- 
lect, abound with antique words and phrases, are 
extremely incorrect, and run into the utmost license 
of metre ; they have also a romantic wildness, and 
are in the true spirit of chivalry. The other sort 
are written in exacter measure, have a low or sub- 
ordinate correctness, sometimes bordering on the 
insipid, yet often well adapted to the pathetic : these 
are generally in the southern dialect, exhibit a more 
modern phraseology, and are commonly descriptive 
of more modern manners. — To be sensible of the 
difference between them, let the reader compare in 
Series the First, No. 111. of Book III, with No. XI. 
of Book II. 

Towards the end of Queen Elizabeth's reign (as 
is mentioned above) the genuine old minstrelsy 
seems to have been extinct, and thenceforth the 
ballads that were produced were wholly of the 
Latter kind, and these came forth in such abundance, 
that in the reign of James 1, they began to be col- 
lected into little miscellanies, under the name of 
garlands, and at length to be written purposely for 
such collections (F f 'J). 

P.S. By way of Postscript, should follow here the 
discussion of the question whether the term Minstrels 
was applied in English to Singers, and Composers of 
Songs, c\c. t or confined to Musicians only. But it is re- 
served for the concluding note ((J g). 



NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS 



REFERRED TO IN TH5 



FOKEGOIJ5TG ESSAY. 



(A) The Minstrels, &c. The word Minstrel 
does not appear to have been in use here before the 
Norman Conquest ; whereas, it had long before that 
time been adopted in France*. — Menestrei,, so early 
as the eighth century, was a title given to the Maestro 
di Capella of King Pepin, the father of Charlemagne ; 
and afterwards to the Coryphaeus, or leader of any 
band of musicians. [Vid. Burney's Hist, of Music, 
ii. 268.] This term menestrei, menestrier, was thus 
expressed in Latin, ministellus, ministrellus, minis* 
trallus, menesterellus, &c. [Vid. Gloss. Du Cange 
et Supplem.] 

Menage derives the French words above men- 
tioned from ministerialis, or ministeriarius, barbarous 
Latin terms, used in the middle ages to express a 
workman or artificer, (still called in Languedoc 
ministral,) as if these men were styled Artificers or 
Performers by way of excellence. [Vid. Diction. 
F.tym.] But the origin of the name is given, per- 
haps more truly, by Du Cange : " Ministelli, .... 
quos vulgo menestreux vel menestriers appellamus, 
juod minoribus aulae ministris accenserentur." [Gloss, 
iv. p. 769.] Accordingly, we are told, the word 
" minister' is sometimes used " pro ministellus." [Ibid.] 
and an instance is produced which I shall insert at 
large in the next paragraph. 

Minstrels sometimes assisted at divine service, as 
appears from the record of the 9th of Edw. IV. 
quoted above in p. xix. by which Haliday and others 
are erected into a perpetual gild, &c. See the 
original in Rymer, xi. 642. By part of this record 
it is recited to be their duty, " to pray (exorare : 
which it is presumed they did by assisting in the 
chant, and musical accompaniment, &c.) in the king's 
chapel, and particularly for the departed souls of the 
king and queen when they shall die, &c." — The 
same also appears from the passage in the Supplem. 
to Du Cange, alluded to above. " Minister .... pro 
ministellus joculatorf. — Vetus Ceremoniale MS. B.M. 



* The Anglo-Saxon and primary English name for this 
character was Gleman [see below, note (I) sect. 1.] so that, 
wherever the term Minstrel is in these pages applied to it 
before the Conquest, it must be understood to be only by 
anticipation. Another early name for this profession in 
English was Jogeler, or Jocular. Lat. Joculator. [See p. 
15. as also note (V 2) and note (Q). To prevent con- 
fusion, we have chiefly used the more general word Min- 
strel : which (as the author of the Observ. on the Statutes 
hath suggested to the Editor) might have been originally 
derived from a diminutive of the Lat. Minister, scil. Minis- 
terellus, Ministrellus. 

t Ministers seems to be used for Minstrels in the Account 
of the Inthronization of Abp. Neville. (An. 6. Edw. IV.) 
" Then all the Chaplyns must say grace, and the Ministers 
do sing." Vid. Lelandi Collectanea, by Hearne, vol. vi. 
p. 13. 



deauratae Tolos. " Item, etiam congregabuntur 
piscatores, qui debent interesse isto die in proces- 
sione cum ministris seu joculatoribus : quia ipsi 
piscatores tenentur habere isto die joculator es, seu 
mimos ob honorem Crucis — et vadunt primi ante 
processionem cum ministris seu joculatoribus semper 
pulsantibus usque ad ecclesium S. Stephani." 
[Gloss. 773]. — This may, perhaps, account for the cle- 
cal appearance of the minstrels, who seem to have 
been distinguished by the tonsure, which was one of 
the inferior marks of the clerical character*. Thus 
Jeffery of Monmouth, speaking of one who acted 
the part of a minstrel, says, " Rasit capillos suos et 
barbam" (see note K ) Again, a writer in the reign 
of Elizabeth, describing the habit of an ancient 
minstrel, speaks of his head as "rounded Tonster- 
wise," (which I venture to read tonsure- wise), "his 
beard smugly shaven." See above, p. xxi. 

It must, however be observed, that notwithstand- 
ing such clerical appearance of the minstrels, and 
though they might be sometimes countenanced by 
such of the clergy as were of more relaxed morals, 
their sportive talents rendered them generally ob- 
noxious to the more rigid ecclesiastics, and to such 
of the religious orders as were of more severe dis- 
cipline ; whose writings commonly abound with 
heavy complaints of the great encouragement shown 
to those men by the princes and nobles, and who 
can seldom afford them a better name than that of 
scurra, famelici, nebulones, &c. of which innumer- 
able instances may be seen in Du Cange. It was 
even an established order in some of the monasteries, 
that no minstrel should ever be suffered to enter the 
gatesf. 

We have however innumerable particulars of the 
good cheer and great rewards given to the Minstrels 
in many of the Convents, which are collected by T. 

* It his however been suggested to the Editor by the 
learned and ingenious author of " Irish Antiquities," 4to. 
that the ancient Mimi among the Romans had their heads 
and beards shaven, as is shown by Salmasius in Notis ad 
Hist. August. Scriptores VI. Paris. 1620, fol. p. 385. So 
that this peculiarity had a classical origin, though it after- 
wards might make the Minstrels sometimes pass for Eccle- 
siastics, as appears from the instance given below. Dr. 
Burney tells us that Histriones, and Mimi, abounded in 
France in the time of Charlemagne (ii. 221,) so that their 
profession was handed down in regular succession from the 
time of the Romans, and therewith some leading distinctions 
of their habit or appearance ; yet with a change in their arts 
of pleasing, which latterly were most confined to singing 
and music. 

t Yet in St. Mary's church at Beverley, one of the 
columns hath this inscription : " Thys Pillar made the Myn- 
strylls;" having its capital decorated with figures of five 
men in short coats ; one of whom holds an instrument re- 
sembling a lute. See Sir J. Hawkins, Hist. n. 298. 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



Worton, (i, 91, &c.) and others. But one instance, 
quoted from Wood's Hist. Anticj. Univ. Ox. i. (">?. 
(sub an. l'j f t), deserves particular mention. Two 
itinerant priests, on a supposition of their being 
Mimi or Mhutreis, gained admittance. But the 
cellarer, sacrist, and others of the brethren, who had 
hoped to have been entertained with their diverting 
arts, See. when they found them to be only two indi- 
gent Ecclesiastics, who could only administer spi- 
ritual consolation, and were consequently disap- 
pointed of their mirth, beat them and turned them 
out of the monastery. (Ibid. p. 92.) This passage 
furnishes an additional proof that a Minstrel might 
by his dress or appearance be mistaken for an Eccle- 
siastic. 

(B) " The Minstrels use mimicry and action, and 
other means of diverting, &c."] It is observable, 
that our old monkish historians do not use the words 
Cantator, Citharcedus, Musicus, or the like, to express 
a Minstrel in Latin, so frequently as Mimus, Histrio, 
Joculator, or some other word that implies gesture. 
Hence it might be inferred, that the Minstrels set off 
their songs with all the arts of gesticulation, &c. or, 
according to the ingenious hypothesis of Dr. Brown, 
united the powers of melody, poem, and dance. [See 
his History of the Rise of Poetry, &c] 

But indeed all the old writers describe them as 
exercising various arts of this kind. Joinville, in 
his Life of St. Lewis, speaks of some Armenian Min- 
strels, who were very dextrous Tumblers and Pos 
ture-masters. " Avec le Prince vinrent trois Menes 
triers de la Grande Hyermenie (Armenia) .... et 

avoient trois cors Quand ils encommenceoient a 

corner, vous dissiez que ce sont les voix de cygnes, 

....et fesoient les plus douces melodies. Ils 

fesoient trois merveilleus saus, car on leur metoit 
une touaille desous les piez, ettournoient toutdebout 
.... Les deux tournoient les testes arieres," &c. [See 
the extract at large, in the Hon. D. Barrington's 
Observations on the Anc. Statutes, 4to, 2d. Edit. p. 
273, omitted in the last impression.] 

This may also account for that remarkable clause 
in the press warrant of Henry VI. " De Ministrallis 
propter solatium Regis providendis," by which it is 
required, that the boys, to be provided " in arte 
Ministrallatus instructos," should also be "membris 
naturalibus elegantes." See above pag. 19. (Observ. 
on the Anc. Stat. 4th Edit. p. 337). 

Although by Minstrel was properly understood, 
in English, one who sung to the harp, or some other 
instrument of music, verses composed by himself or 
others ; yet the term was also applied by our old 
writers to such as professed either music or singing 
seperately, and perhaps to such as practised any of 
the sportive arts connected with these* Music 
however being the leading idea, was at length pecu- 
liarly called Minstrelsy, and the name of Minstrel 
at last confined to the Musician only. 

In the French language all these* Arts were in- 
cluded under the general name of Mciicstruudic, 
Menestraudisc, Jonglerie, tkc. [Med. I. at. Mciirstrlloruin 
Ars, Ars Joculatoria, &c] — " On peut comprendre 

sous lo nam de Jonglerie tout oe qui appartient aux 
am tens cbaneonnien Proven caux, Normenda, 

Picards, &C, Le corps do la Jonglerie etoit forme des 
Trouvercs, on Troubadours , qui 0OmpO8oien1 les chan- 
■Ons, et )iarmi les(|iiels ll y avoit des ImpTWUaUun, 

• Vid. infra, Not (\ a.) 



comme on en trouve en Itulie ; des Chanteurs ou 
Chanteres qui executoient ou chantoient ces compo- 
sitions ; des Contours qui faisoient en vers ou en 
prose les contes, les recits, les histoires ; des Jon- 
gleurs ou Menestrels qui accompagnoient de leurs 

instruments. L'art de ces Chantres ou Chanson- 

niers, etoit nomine la Science Gaie, Gay Saber." 

(Pref. Anthologie Franc. 1765, 8vo, p. 17.) See 

also the curious Fauchet, (De'l Orig. de la Lang. Fr. 
p. 72, §c.) " Bien tost apres la division de ce grand 
empire Francois en tant de petits royaumes, duchez, 
et comtez, au lieu des Poetes commencerent a se 
faire cognoistre les Troierres.etChanterres, Contcours, 
et Jugltours: qui sont Trouveurs, Chantres, Conteurs, 
Jongleurs, ou Jugleurs, e'est a dire, Menestriers 
chantans avec la viole." 

We see then that Jongleur, Jugleur, (Lat. Joculator 
Jug la tor) was a peculiar name appropriated to the 
Minstrels. " Les Jongleurs ne fasoient que chanter 
les poesies sur leurs instrumens. On les appelloit 
aussi Menestrels :" says Fontenelle, in his Hist, du 
Theat. Franc, prefixed to his Life of Corneille. 

(C) "Successors of the ancient Bards." That the 
Minstrels in many respects bore a strong resemblance 
both to the British Bards and to the Danish Scalds, 
appears from this, that the old Monkish writers 
express them all without distinction by the same 
names in Latin. Thus Geoffrey of Monmouth, him- 
self a Welshman, speaking of an old pagan British 
king, who excelled in singing and music so far as to 
be esteemed by his countrymen the Patron Deity of 
the Bards, uses the phrase />hs Joculatorum ; which 
is the peculiar name given to the English and French 
Minstrels*. In like manner, William Malmsburv, 
speaking of a Danish king's assuming the profession 
of a Scald, expresses it by Professus Minium ; which 
was another name given to the Minstrels in Middle 
Latinityf. Indeed Du Cange, in his Glossary, quotes 
a writer, who positively asserts that the Minstrels of 
the middle ages were the same with the ancient 
Bards. I shall give a large extract from this learned 
glossographer, as he relates many curious particulars 
concerning the profession and arts of the Minstrels ; 
whom, after the Monks, he stigmatizes by the name 
of Scums ; though he acknowledges their songs 
often tended to inspire virtue. 

" Ministelli, dicti pnvsertim Scurry, Mimi, Jocu- 

latores." " Ejusmodi Scurrarum munus erat 

principes non suis duntaxat ludicris oblectare, sed et 
eoruni aures variis, avorum, adeoque ipsorum prin- 
cipum laudibus, non sine Assentatione, cum canti- 
lenis et musicis instrumentis demulcere.. .. 

" Interdum etiam virorum insignium et heroum 
gesta, aut explicate et jocunda narratione commemo- 
rabant, aut Buavi vocis inflexione, fidibusque decan- 
tahant, quo sic dominorum, ca^terorumque qui his 
intererant ludicris, nobilium animos ad virtutem 
capessendam, et summorum virorum imitationem 
;•.(( senderent : quod fiiit ohm apud (.'alios Bardorum 
miniaterium, u1 auctor est Tacitus. Neque enim 
alios a Minisiellu, veterum Gallorum Bardos fuisse 
pluribus probat Henricus Yalesius ad 15 Ammiaui 

( hronicon Bcrtrandi Guesclini. 

" Qui vent avoir renom des bona et des vailluns 
11 doit alei souvent a la pluie et au champs 
El estre en la hatadle, ainsv (jue fu Rollans, 
Les Ouatro Fils Haimon, et Charlon li plus grans, 

• Vid. note ( B) (K ) (Q.) t Vid. note (N.) 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



Li dus Lions de Bourges, et Guions de Connans, 
Perceval li Galois, Lancelot, et Tristans, 
Alixandres, Artus, Godfroi li Sachans, 
De quoy cils Menestriers font les nobles Romans." 

" Nicolaus de Braiadescribens solenne convivium, 
quo post inaugurationem suam proceres excepit Lucl. 
VIII. rex Francorum, ait inter ipsius convivii appa- 
ratum, in medium prodiisse Mimum, qui regis laudes 
ad cytharum decantavit." — 

Our author then gives the lines at length, which 
begin thus, 

" Dumque fovent genium geniali munere Bacchi, 
Nectare commixto curas removente Lyzeo 
Principis a facie, citharae celeberrimus arte 
Assurgit Mimus, ars musica quem decoravit. 
Hie ergo chorda resonante subintulit ista : 
Inclyte rex regum, probitatis stemmate vernanc?, 
Quem vigor et virtus extollit in aethera famae," &c. 

The rest may be seen in Du Cange, who thus pro- 
ceeds, " Mitto reliqua similia, ex quibus omnino 
patet ejusmodi Mimorumet Ministellorum cantilenas 
ad virtutem principes excitasse .... Id prresertim in 
pugna? praBcinctu, dominis suis occinebant, ut mar- 
tium ardorem ineorem animis concitarent ; cujusmodi 
cantum Cantilenam Rotlandi appellat Will. Malmesb. 

lib. 3. Aimoinus, lib. 4. de Mirac. S. Bened. c. 

37. 'Tanta vero illis securitas. . . .ut Scurram se 
precedere facerent, qui musico instrumento res for- 
titer gestas et priorum bella praecineret, quatenus his 
acrius incitarentur, &c.' " As the writer was a 
monk, we shall not wonder at his calling the Min- 
strel, Scurram. 

This word Scurra, or some one similar, is repre- 
sented in the Glossaries as the proper meaning of 
Leccator (Fr. Leccour) the ancient term by which 
the Minstrel appears to be expressed in the Grant to 
Dutton, quoted above in page xxxvir. On this head 
I shall produce a very curious passage, which is 
twice quoted in Du Cange's Glossary, (sc. ad verb. 

Menestellus et ad verb. Lecator.) " Phillippus 

Mouskes in Philip. Aug. fingit Carolum M. Provin- 
cie comitatum Scurris et Mimis suis olim donasse, 
indeque postea tantum in hac regione poetarum 
numerum excrevisse. 

" Quar quant li buens Rois Karlemaigne 
Ot toute mise a son demaine 
Provence, qui mult iert plentive 
De vins, de bois, d'aigue, de rive, 
As Leccours as Menestreus 
Qui sont auques luxurieus 
Le donna toute et departi." 

(D) " The Poet and the Minstrel early with us 
became two persons."] The word Scald compre- 
hended both characters among the Danes, nor do I 
know that they had any peculiar name for either of 
them separate. But it was not so with the Anglo- 
Saxons. They called a poet Sceop, and LeoSpyhta : 
the last of these comes from Leo$, a song ; and the 
former answers to our old word Maker(Gr.IIot7jr?7e) 
being derived from Scippan or 8 ceopan, formare, 
f'acere,Jingere, creare (Ang. to shape). As for the 
Minstrel, they distinguished him by the peculiar 
appellation of Dligman, and perhaps by the more 
simple title of Heajaperie, Harper : [See below, 
Notes (H), (I)] This last title, at least, is often 
given to a Minstrel by our most ancient English 
rhymists, See in this work series i. p. 18, &c. series 
hi. i). &c. 



(E) " Minstrels .... at the houses of the great, 
&c."] Du Cange affirms, that in the middle ages the 
courts of princes swarmed so much with this kind of 
men, and such large sums were expended in main- 
taining and rewarding them, that they often drained 
the royal treasuries : especially, he adds, of such as 
were delighted with their flatteries (" praBsertim qui 
ejusmodi Ministellorum assentationibus delecta- 
bantur.") He then confirms his assertion by several 
passages out of monastic writers, who sharply inveigh 
against this extravagance. Of these I shall here 
select only one or two, which show what kind of 
rewards were bestowed on these old Songsters. 

" Rigordus de Gestis Philippi Aug. an. 1185. 
" Cum in curiis regum seu aliorum principum, fre- 
quens turba His'trionum convenire soleat, ut ab eis 
Aurum, Argentum,Equos, seu vestes*, quos persagpe 
mutare consueverunt principes, ab eis extorqueanf, 
verba joculatoria variis adulationibus plena proferre 
nituntur. Et ut magis placeant, quicquid de ipsis 
principibus probabiliter fingi potest, videlicit omnes 
delitias et lepores, et visu dignas urbanitates et 
cameras ineptias, trutinantibus buccis in medium 
eructare non erubescunt. Vidimus quondam quos- 
dam principes, qui vestes diu excogitatas, et variis 
florum picturationibus artificiose elaboratas, pro 
quibus forsan 20 vel. 30 marcas argenti consumpse- 
rant, vix revolutis septem diebus, Histrionibus, 
ministris diaboli, ad primam vocem dedisse, &c." 

The curious reader may find a similar, though at. 
the same time a more candid account, in that most 
excellent writer, Presid. Fauchet : (Recueil de la 
Lang. Fr. p. 73.) who says that, like the ancient 
Greek Aoidoi, " Nos Trouverres, ainsi que ceux la, 
prenans leur subject sur les faits des vaillans ( qu'ils 
appelloyent Geste, venant de Gesta Latin) alloyent 
.... par les cours rejouir les Princes .... Remportans 
des grandes recompences des seigneurs, qui bien 
souvent leur donnoyent jusques aux robes qu'ils 
avoyent vestues : et lesquelles ces Jugleours ne 
failloyent de porter aux autres cours, a fin d'inviter 
les seigneurs a pareille liberalite. Ce qui a dure si 
longuement, qu'il me souvient avoir veu Marten 
Baraton (ja viel Menestrier d'Orleans) lequel aux 
festes et nopees batoit un tabourin d'argent, seme 
des plaques aussi d'argent, gravees des armoiries de 
ceux a qui il avoit appris a danser." — Here we see 
that a Minstrell sometimes performed the function or 
a Dancing-master. 

Fontenelle even gives us to understand, that these 
men were often rewarded with favours of a still 
higher kind. " Les princesses et les plus grandes 
dames y joignoient souvent leurs faveurs. Elles 
etoient fort foibles centre les beaux esprits." (Hist, 
du Theat.) We are not to wonder then that this 
profession should be followed by men of the first 
quality, particularly the younger sons and brothers 
of great houses. " Tel qui par les partages de fa 
famille n'avoit que la moitie ou le quart d'une vieux 
chateaux bien seigneurial, alloit quelque temps courir 
le monde en rimant, et revenoit acquerir le reste de 

* The Minstrels in France were received with great mag- 
nificence in the fourteenth century. Froissart describing a 
Christmas entertainment given by the Comte de Foix, tells 
us, that " there were many Mynstrels, as well of hys own 
as of straungers, and eache of them dyd their devoyre in 
their faculties. The same day the Earle of Foix gave to 
Hauralds and Minstrelles the som of fyve hundred frankes : 
and gave to the Duke of Tonrayns Mynstreles gownes of 
clothe of gold furred with ermyne valued at two hundred 
frankes." B. iii. c. 31. Eng. Trans. Lond 1525 (Mr. C.) 



N0TE3 ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



iu." (Fontenelle Hist da Theat.) We see 
then, that there was no improbable fiction in those 
ancient songs and romances, which arc founded on 

tory of Minstrels being beloved by k ngs 
daughters, &c. and discovering themselves to be the 
sons of some foreign prince, fitc. 

(F) The honours and rewards lavished upon the 
Minstrels were not confined to the continent. Our 
own countryman Johannes Sarisburiensis (in the 
time of Henry II.) declaims no less than the Monks 
abroad, against the extravagant favour shewn to 
these men. " Xon eninimore nugatorum ejus seculi 
in Ilistriones et Mimos, et hujusmodi monstra hom- 
inum, ob famae redemptionem et dilatationem nominis 
effunditis opes vestras," &c. [Epist. 24?*.] 

The Monks seem to grudge every act of munificence 
that was not applied to the benefit of themselves, and 
their convents. They therefore bestow great applauses 
upon the Emperor Henry, who at his marriage with 
Agnes of Poictou, in 1044, disappointed the poor min- 
strels, and sent them away empty. " Infinitam His- 
trionem et Joculatorum multitudinem sine cibo et 
muneribus vacuam et moerentem abire permisit." 
(Chronic. Virtziburg.) For wdiich I doubt not but 
he was sufficiently stigmatized in the Songs and 
Ballads of those times. Vid. Du Cange, Gloss, torn. 
iv. p. 771, &c. 

(G) " The annals of the Anglo-Saxons are scanty 
and defective."] Of the few histories now remaining 
that were written before the Norman Conquest, 
almost all are such short and naked sketches and 
abridgements, giving only a concise and general 
relation of the more remarkable events, that scarce 
any of the minute circumstantial particulars are to be 
found in them : nor do they hardly ever descend to 
to a description of the customs, manners, or domestic 
economy of their countrymen. The Saxon Chron- 
icle, for instance, which is the best of them, and 
upon some accounts extremely valuable, is almost 
such an epitome as Lucius Florus and Eutropius 
have left us of the Roman history. As for Kthel- 
ward, his book is judged to be an imperfect transla- 
tion of the Saxon Chroniclef ; and the Pseudo-Asser, 
or Chronicle of St. Neot, is a poor defective perform- 
ance. I low absurd would it be then to argue against 
the existence of customs or facts, from the silence of 
such scanty records as these ! Whoever would carry 
Ins researches deep into that period of history, might 
safely plead the excuse of a learned writer, who had 
particularly studied the Ante-Norman historians. 
" ( Diijecturis (licet nusquam verisimili fundamento) 
aliquoties induigemus.. . utpote ab Historicis jejune 
oiinis et indiligenter res nostras tractantibus coacti 

... Nostri ... nuda factorum commemoratione ple- 
rumque contenti, reliqua omnia, sive ob ipsarum 

reriini, .sive melioniin literannn, sive I listoricorum 

officii tgnoranriam, fere intacta protereunt." Vide 
plura in Prsfat. ad . Elfr. Vitam a Bpelman. Ox. 
1678. fol. 

(\l) " Minstrels and Harpers:"] Thai the Harp 

(Citkara I was the common musical instrument of the 

Anglo-Saxons, might be inferred from the very word 

itself, which is not derived from the British, or any 
other Celtic language, but of genuine Gothic original, 

• Ft rid. Pdicratlcon, <-.i|». s, fee. 
» \i.l. Nicol.ou'l Eng. Hilt Lib. &c. 



and current among every branch of that people : viz* 
Ang. Sax. Heappe, Heappa. Iceland. Ilarpa, 
Haurpa. Dan. and Belg. liurpe. Germ. Harpff'e, 
Harpffa, Gal. Harpe. Span. Harpa. Ital. Arpa, 
I \ id. .Fun. Etym. — Monage Etym. &c] As also 
from this, that the word Heappe is constantly used 
in the Anglo-Saxon versions, to express the Latin 
words Cilhara, Lyra, and even Cymbalum : the word 
Psalmus itself being sometimes translated Heapp 
pang, Harp Song. [Gloss. Jun. R. apud Lye Anglo- 
Sax. Lexic] 

But the fact itself is positively proved by the ex- 
press testimony of Rede, who tells us that it was 
usual at festival meetings for this instrument to be 
handed round, and each of the company to sing to it 
in his turn. See his Hist. Eccles. Anglor, Lib. 4. c. 
24. where speaking of their sacred poet Canlmon, 
who lived in the times of the Heptarchy (ob. circ. 
680) he says : — 

" Nihil unquam frivoli et supervacui poemntis 
facere potuit ; sed ea tanummodo, quae ad religionem 
pertinent, religiosam ejus linguam decebant. Siqui- 
dem in habitu saeculari, usque ad tempore provectioris 
a±tatis constitutus, nil Carminum aliquando didicerat. 
Unde nonnunquam in convivio, cum esset laetittiae 
causa decretum ut omnes per ordinem cantare debe- 
rent, ille ubi appropinquare sibi citharam cernebat, 
surgebat a media cama, et egressus, ad suam domum 
repedabat." 

I shall now subjoin King Alfred's own Anglo- 
Saxon translation of this passage, with a literal inter- 
lineary English version. 

" He..nasppe nohr leapunja. ne lfcelep leoSep 

He .... never no leasings, nor idle songs 
pypcean ne mihte. ac epne Sa an Sa $e ro 
compose ne might; but lo ! only those things which to 
a?peptneppe belumpon. -j hip 5a a?pepran run3an 
religion [piety] belong, and his then pious tongue 
ge'sapenobe pinjan : ttlsep he pe man in peopolfc 
became to sing : He was the [a] man in worldly 
babe jepeteb 08 5a ti'se Se he brcp op 
[secular] state set to the time in which he was of 
jelypebpe yl'so. -j he neppe aenij leob 
an advanced age; and he never any song 
jeleopnobe. -j he popbon opt in jebeoppcipe 
learned. And he therefore oft in an entertainment 
Sonne $aep pa>p blippe intinja je&emet) 

when there was for merriment-sake adjudged [or de- 
fy hi ealle pceol'can <Suph enbebyptmeppe 
creed] that thru all should through their turns by 
be heappan pingan. Sonne he jepeah <5a heappan 
[to the] harp sing; when he saw the harp 
him neabrcean. Sonne apap he pop pceome ppam 
him approach, then arose he for shame from 
Sam pyinle. -j ham eot>e ro hip hupe." 

the supper, ami home ncnle [went] to his house. 
\U-i\. I list. Eccl. a Smith. Cantab. 1722. fol. p. 597. 

In this version of Alfred's it is observable, (l) 
that he has expressed the Latin word cantare, by the 
Anglo-Saxon words " be heappan pinjan," sing to 
the bar]) : as if they were synonymous, or as if his 
countrymen had no idea of singing unaccompanied 

with the Harp : ('J) That when Rede simply says, 
siirgclnil a media cauA ; In- assigns a motive, " apap 
pop pceome," arOM for shame \ that is, either from 
an austerity of manners, or from his being deficient 
in an accomplishment, which so generally prevailed 
among his countrymen. 

(1) "The Word Glee, which peculiarly denoted 
their art. &c." This word Glee is derived from the 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



Anglo-Saxon DI155, [Gligg] Musica, Music, Min- 
strelsy (Somn). This is the common radix, whence 
arises such a variety of terms and phrases relating to 
the Minstrel Art, as affords the strongest internal 
proof, that this profession was extremly common 
and popular here before the Norman Conquest. 
Thus we have 

I. 

(1) Dhp, [Gliw] Mimus a Minstrel. 
Dlisman, jl^mon, shman, [Gleeman*] Histrio 

Mimus, Pantomimus ; all common names in Middle 
Latinity for a Minstrel : and Somner accordingly 
renders the original by a Minstrel ; a Player on a 
Timbrel or Taber. He adds, a Fidler ; but although 
the Fythell or Fiddle was an ancient instrument, by 
which the Jogelar or Minstrel sometimes accompanied 
his song, (see Warton, i. 17) it is probable that Som- 
ner annexes here only a modern sense to the word, 
not having at all investigated the subject. 

Dlnmen, slujmen. [Glee-men.] Histriones Min- 
strels. Hence 

Dli3manna yppe-. Orchestra vel Pulpitus The 
place where the Minstrels exhibited their perform- 
ances. 

(2) But their most proper and expressive name 
was 

niiphleobruent). Musicus a Minstrel ; and 
niiphleobruen'&lica. Musicus, Musical. 
These two words include the full idea of the Min- 
strel character, expressing at once their music and 
singing, being compounded of Clip, Musicus, Mimus, 
a Musician, Minstrel, and LeocS, Carmen, a Song. 

(3) From the above word DI133, the profession 
itself was called 

niigcriaspic. [Glig or Glee -craft.] Musica, Histrio- 
nia, Mimica, Gesticulatio : which Somner rightly gives 
in English, Minstrelsy, Mimical Gesticulation, Mum- 
mery. He also adds, Stage-playing ; but here again 
I think he substitutes an idea too modern, induced by 
the word Histrionia, which in Middle Latinity only 
signifies the Minstrel Art. 

However, it should seem that both mimical gesti- 
culation and a kind of rude exhibition of characters 
were sometimes attempted by the old Minstrels : 
But 

(4) As Musica] Performances was the leading 
idea, so 

Gliopian, Cantus musicos edere ; and 

Ijlijbeam, jhpbeam. [Glig- or Glee-beam]. 
Tympanam ; a Timbrel or Taber. (So Somn.) 
Hrnce 

Dlypan. Tympanum puhare ; and 

* Gleman continued to be the name given to a Minstrel 
both in England and Scotland almost as long as this cider 
of men continued. 

In De Brunne's metrical version of Bishop Grosthead's 
Manuel de Peche, A. D. 1303. (See Warton, i. 6i;, we 
have this, 

" Gode men, ye shall lere 

When ye any Gleman here." 
Fabyan (in his Chronicle, 1533. f. 32,) translating the 
passage from Geoffrey of Monmouth, quoted below in page 
•28. Note (K) renders Deus Joculatorum, by God of 
Glemen. (Wartou's Hist. Eng. Poet. Diss. I.) Fabyan 
died in 1592. 

Dunbar, who lived in the same century, describing, in one 
of his poems, intituled, " The Daunce," what passed in the 
•nfemal regions " amaugis the Feyndis," says, 

" Na Menstralls playit to thame, but dowt, 
For Gle-men thaire wer haldin, out, 
Be day and eke by nicht." 
See Poems from Bannatyne's MS. Edinb. 1770, 12mo. page 
HO Maitland's MS. at Cambridge reads here, Glewe men. 



niip-meben ; nrliypien'se-maben ; [Glee-maiden] 
Tympanistria : which Somner renders a She-Minstrel ; 
for it should seem that they had Females of this pro- 
fession ; one name for which was also Elypby^e- 
neptria. 

(5) Of congenial derivation to the foregoing, is 
Erlypc. [Glywc]. Tibia, a Pipe or Flute. 
Both this and the common radix niigg, are with 
great appearance of truth derived by Junius from the 
Icelandic Gliggur, FlaUis : as supposing the first 
attempts at music among our Gothic ancestors were 
from wind-instruments. Vid. Jun. Etym. Ang. 
V. Glee. 

II. 

But the Minstrels, as is hinted above, did not 
confine themselves to the mere exercise of their pri- 
mary arts of Music and Song, but occasionally used 
many other modes of diverting. Hence, from the 
above root was derived, in a secondary sense, 

(1) I/leo, and pinpum slip. Faceticz. 
Dleopian, Joca; i; to jest, or be merry ; (Somn.) 

and 

Eleopienb, jocans ; jesting, speaking merrily ; 
(Somn.) 

Dhjman also signified Jocista, a Jester, 
rrlig-gamen. [Glee-games.] joci. Which Somner 
renders Merriments, or merry Jests, or trick, or Sports ; 
Gamboles. 

(2) Hence, again, by a common metonymy of the 
cause for the effect. 

Dhe, gaudium, alacritas, loetitia, faceticz ; Joy, 
Mirth, Gladness, Cheerfulness, Glee. [Somner.] Which 
last application of the word still continues, though 
rather in a low debasing sense. 
III. 

But however agreeable and delightful the various 
arts of the Minstrels might be to the Anglo-Saxon 
laity, there is reason to believe that before the Nor- 
man Conquest at least, they were not much favoured 
by the clergy ; particularly by those of monastic pro- 
fession. For, not to mention that the sportive talents 
of these men would be considered by those austere 
ecclesiastics as tending to levity and licentiousness, 
the Pagan origin of their art would excite in the 
Monks an insuperable prejudice against it. The 
Anglo-Saxon Harpers and Gleemen were the imme- 
diate successors and imitators of the Scandinavian 
Scalds ; who were the great promoters of Pagan 
superstition, and fomented that spirit of cruelty and 
outrage in their countrymen the Danes which fell 
with such peculiar severity on the religious and their 
convents. — Hence arose a third application of words 
derived from I/I133, Minstrelsy, in a very unfavour- 
able sense, and this chiefly prevails in books of reli- 
gion and ecclesiastic discipline. Thus 

(1) Gils is Ludibrium, laughing to scorn* So in 
S. Basil. Begul. 11. Hi haepbon him to gli^e hal- 
pen^e minesunge. Ludribrio habebant salutarem 

ejus admonitionem. (10) This sense of the word 

was perhaps not ill-founded ; for as the sport of 
rude uncultivated minds often arises from ridicule, 
it is not improbable but the old Minstrels often in- 
dulged a vein of this sort, and that of no very delicate 
kind. So again, 

* To gleek, is used in Shakespeare, for " to make sport, 
o jest," &c. 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



nhj-man was also used to signify Scurra, a 
" Saucy Jester." (Somn.) 

niis-jeopn. Dteax, ScurrUujocei supra quam par 

e>t (inuuis. Officium Episcopale, S. 

Dlipian. Scurrilibut oblectamentis indulgent Scur- 

ram agen. Canon. Edgar, 58. 

(2) Again, as the various attempts to please, 
practised, by an order of men who owed their sup- 
port to the public favour, might be considered by 
those grave censors as mean and debasing : Hence 
came from the same root, 

Dlipejr. Parasitus, Assentator ; " A Fawner, a 
Togger, a Parasite, a Flatterer*. (Somn.) 

IV. 

To return to the Anglo-Saxon word Tsh^Z '■> not_ 
withstanding the various secondary senses in which 
this word (as we have seen above) was so early 
applied ; yet 

The derivative Glee (though now chiefly used to 
express Merriment and Joy) long retained its first 
simple meaning, and is even applied by Chaucer to 
signify Music and Minstrelsy. (Vid. Jun. Etym.) 
E.g. 

" For though that the best harper upon live 
Would on the beste sounid jolly harpe 
That evir was, with all his fingers five 
Touch aie o string, or aie o warble harpe, 
Were his nailes poincted nevir so sharpe 
It shoulde makin every wight to dull 
To heare is glee, and of his strokes fill." 
Troyl. lib. ii, 1030. 

Junius interprets Glees by Masica Jnstrumenta, in 
the following passages of Chaucer's Third Boke of 
Fame. 

" . . Stoden . . the castell all aboutin 

Of all maner of Mynstrales 

And Jestours that tellen tales 

Both of wepyng and of game, 

And of all that longeth unto fame ; 

There herde I play on a harpe 

That sowned both well and sharpe 

Hym Orpheus full craftily ; 

And on this syde fast by 

Sate the harper Orion ; 

And Eacides Chirion ; 

And other harpers many one, 

And the Briton Glaskyrion. 

After mentioning these, the great masters of the 
art, he proceeds ; 

" And small Harpers with her Glees 
Sat under them in divers sees. 
• * * * 

Again, a little below, the poet having enumerated 
tin- performer! on all the different sorts of instru- 
ments, adds, 



•The preceding li->t of Anglo-Saxon works, so full and 
ro|pi<nn beyond anj thing thai evci yel appeared in piinton 
mi- subject, m i- extracted i Mi Lye't cnrioni Anglo- 
Saxon Lexi in MS. inii the arrangement here lathe 

Editor*! own. Il had however no ived llic Mnctlon of Mr. 

Lye'i approbation, and would donbtleai have been received 
into bli printed cop) bad he lived to puNi-li It bimtelf. 

h 1 1 . .i 1 1 • l also i» observed, for the lake of future re 
learches, that without the assistance ol the old English in- 
terpretations given by Somoer, in bli Inglo-Saxou Die 
iloitary, the Editor of thii i".«.k nevei ronld nave diacovered 
■ i i ci« e signified " Ifinttreby/' or GUgman a "Minstrel." 



" There sawe I syt in other sees 
Playing upon other sundry Glees, 
Which that I cannot neven * 
More than starres ben in heven, &c. 
Upon the above lines 1 shall only make a few 
observations : 

(1) That by Jestours, I suppose we are to 
understand Gestours ; scil. the relaters of Gests, 
(Lat. Gesta) or stories of adventures both comic 
and tragical ; whether true or feinged ; I am in- 
clined to add, whether in prose or verse. (Compare 
the record below, in marginal note subjoined to (V) 
2. Of the stories in prose, I conceive we have 
specimens in that singular book the Gesta Ro- 
7nanorum, and this will account for its seemingly 
improper title. These were evidently what the 
French called Conteours, or Story-tellers, and to 
them we are probably indebted for the first Prose 
Romances of chivalry : which may be considered as 
specimens of their manner. 

(2) That the " Briton Glaskeryon," whoever he 
was, is apparently the same person with our famous 
Harper Glasgerion, of whom the reader will find 

a tragical ballad, at page 206. In that song 

may be seen an instance of what was advanced 
above in note (E), of the dignity of the minstrel 
profession, or at least of the artifice with which the 
Minstrels endeavoured to set off its importance. 

Thus " a king's son is represented as appearing 
in the character of a Harper or Minstrel in the 
court of another king. He wears a collar (or gold 
chain) as a person of illustrious rank ; rides on 
horsebank, and is admitted to the embraces of a 
king's daughter." 

The Minstrels lost no opportunity of doing honour 
to their art. 

(3) As for the word Glees, it is to this day used 
in a musical sense, and applied to a peculiar piece of 
composition. Who has not seen the advertisements 
proposing a reward to him who should produce the 
best Catch, Canon, or Glee? 

(K) "Comes from the pen of Goffrey of Mon- 
mouth."] Geoffrey's own words are 4< Cum ergo 
alterius modi aditum [Boldulphus] non haberet, 
rasit capillos suos et barbam t, cultumque Jocu- 
latoris cum Cythara fecit. Deinde intra castra 
deambulans, modulis quos in Lyra componebat, 
sese Cytharistam exhibebat." Galf. Monum. Hist. 
4to, 1508, lib. vii. c. 1. — That Jocuhtor signifies 
precisely a Minstrel appears not only from this 
passage, where it is used as a word of like import 

• Neven, i. e. name, 
t Geoffrey Of Monmouth is probably here describing the 
appearance ol Hie Jocttlutorcs or Minstrels, as it was in liii 
own time. Pot they apparently derived tliis part of their 
dreMj &C. from the Mimiof the ancient Komans, who had 
their heads and beards shaven : (see above, p. xxi. note +,) 
i> they likewise did the mimicry, and other arts of divert- 
ing, which thej superadded to tin' composing and sinking to 
the barp heroic soiiu>, \e. which Ihej inherited from their 
own progenitor! the bardl and Scalds Of the ancient Celtic 
and Gothic nations. The Longobardi had, like other nor- 
Ihein p.. .pie, brought these with them into Italy. For in 

the year 774, when Charlemagne entered Italy and found 
bis passage impeded, he was nut by a Minstrel of Lombardy, 
whose m'ii^ promised him success and victory. " Contigit 

Joodlatojuhi e\ Longobardorwm gentead Carolum venire, 
.I (Win mi i.oi a M. COHPOSITAU, rotando in conspectu 
inorum cantare." Tom ii. p. *2. Chron. Monast. Noval. 
lib. iii. c.\\>. x. p. 717. (T. Walton's Hist. vol. ii. Emend, 
of vol. I. p. 113.) 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



to Citharista or Harper, (which was the old English 
word for Minstrel,) but also from another passage 
of the same author, where it is applied as equivalent 
to Cantor. See lib. ?'. cap. 22, where, speaking of 
an ancient (perhaps fabulous) British King, he says, 
" Hie omnes Cantores quos prsecedens aetas ha- 
buerat et in modulis et in omnibus musicis instru- 
ments excedebat : ita ut Deus Joculatorum vide- 
retur."— — Whatever credit is due to Geoffrey as a 
relater of Facts, he is certainly as good authority as 
any for the signification of Words. 

(L) " Two remakable facts."] Both of these 
facts are recorded by William of Malmesbury ; and 
the first of them, relating to Alfred, by Ingulphus 
also. Now Ingulphus (afterwards abbot of Croyland) 
was near forty years of age at the time of the Con- 
quest *, and consequently was as proper a judge of 
the Saxon manners, as if he had actually written his 
history before that event ; he is therefore to be con- 
sidered as an Ante-Norman writer : so that whether 
the fact concerning Alfred be true or not, we are 
assured from his testimony, that the Jocnlator or 
Minstrel was a common character among the Anglo- 
Saxons. The same also may be inferred from the 
relation of William of Malmesbury, who outlived 
Ingulphus but thirty-three years t- Both these 
writers had doubtless recourse to innumerable 
records and authentic memorials of the Anglo- 
Saxon times which never descended down to us ; 
their testimony therefore is too positive and full to 
be overturned by the mere silence of the two or 
three slight Anglo-Saxon epitomes that are now 
remaining. Vid. note (G). 

As for Asser Menevensis, who has given a some- 
what more particular detail of Alfred's actions, and 
yet takes no notice of the following story, it will not 
be difficult to account for his silence, if we consider 
that he was a rigid Monk, and that the Minstrels, 
however acceptable to the laity, were never much 
respected by men of the more strict monastic pro- 
fession, especially before the Norman Conquest, 
when they would be considered as brethren of the 
Pagan Salds J. Asser therefore might not regard 
Alfred's skill in Minstrelsy in a very favourable 
light ; and might be induced to drop the circum- 
stance related below, as reflecting in his opinion no 
great honour on his patron. 

The learned Editor of Alfred's Life, in Latin, 
after having examined the scene of action in person, 
and weighed all the circumstances of the event, 
determines, from the whole collective evidence, that 
Alfred could never have gained the victory he did 
if he had not with his own eyes previously seen the 
disposition of the enemy by such a stratagem as is 
here described. Vid. Annot. in JElfr. Mag. Vitam, 
p. 33. Oxon. 1678, fol. 



(M) " Alfred . . . assumed the dress and character 
of a " Minstrel."] " Fingens se Joculatorem, as- 
sumpta cithara," &c. Ingulphi Hist. p. 869. — " Sub 
specie mimi . . . ut JoculatorijE professor artis." 
Gul. Malmesb. 1. ii. c. 4. p. 43. That both Jocu la tor 
and Mimus signify literally, a Minstrel, see proved 

• Natus 1039, scripsit 1091, obiit 1109. Tanner. 

t Obiit anno 1142. Tanner. 

J (See above, p. xxviii ) Both Ingnlph. and Will, of Mal- 
mesb. had been very conversant among the Normans, who 
•appear not*to have had such prejudices against the Minstrels 
as the Anglo-Saxons had 



in notes (B) (K) (N) (Q) &c. See also Note 
(Gg). 

Malmesbury adds, " Unius tantum fidelissimi frue- 
batur conscientia." As this confidant does not 
appear to have assumed the disguise of a Minstrel 
himself, I conclude that he only appeared as the 
Minstrel's attendant. Now that the Minstrel had 
sometimes his servant or attendant to carry his 
harp, and even to sing to his music, we have many 
instances in the old Metrical Romances, and even 
some in this present collection : See Series the First, 
Song vi. ; Series the third, Song vii. &c. Among 
the French and Provencal Bards, the Trouverre, 
or Inventor, was generally attended with his singer, 
who sometimes also played on the harp, or other 
musical instrument. " Quelque foisdurant le repas 
d'un prince on voyoit arriver un Trouverre inconnu 
avec ses Menestrels ou Jongleours, et il leur faisoit 
chanter sur leurs harpes ou vielles les vers qu'il 
avoit composes. Ceux qui faisoient les Sons aussi 
bien que les Mots etoient les plus estimes." Fon- 
tenelle Hist, du Theatr. 

That Alfred excelled in Music is positively asserted 
bv Bale, who doubtless had it from some ancient 
MS. many of which subsisted in his time that are 
now lost : as also by Sir J. Spelman, who, we may 
conclude, had good authority for this anecdote, as 
he is known to have compiled his life of Alfred from 
authentic materials collected by his learned father : 
this writer informs us that Alfred "provided him- 
self of musitians, not common, or such as knew 
but the practick part, but men skilful in the art 
itself, whose skill and service he yet further im- 
proved with his own instruction." p 199. This 
proves Alfred at least to have understood the theory 
of music ; and how could this have been acquired 
without practising on some instrument ? which we 
have seen above, note (H), was so extremely common 
with the Anglo-Saxons, even in much ruder times, 
that Alfred himself plainly tells us, it was shameful 
to be ignorant of it. And this commonness might 
be one reason, why Asser did not think it of con- 
sequence enough to be particularly mentioned in his 
short life of that great monarch. This rigid Monk 
may also have esteemed it a slight and frivolous 
accomplishment savouring only of worldly vanity. 
He has however particularly recorded Alfred's 
fondness for the oral Anglo-Saxon poems and songs 
[" Saxonica poemata die nocteque . . . audiens . . . 
memorita retinebat." p. 16. " Carmina Saxonica me- 
moriter discere," &c. p. 43, et ib.] Now the poems 
learnt by rote, among all ancient unpolished nations, 
are ever songs chanted by the reciter, and accom- 
panied with instrumental melody *. 

(N) " With his harp in his hand, and dressed 
like a Minstrel."] " Assumpta manu cithar& . . . 
professus Mimum, qui hujusraodi arte stipem quoti- 
dianam mercaretur . . . Jussus abire pretium Cantus 
accepit." Malmesb. 1. ii. c. 6. We see here that 
which was rewarded was (not any mimicry or tricks, 
but) his singing (Cantus); this proves, beyond 
dispute, what was the nature of the entertainment 
AularF afforded them. Perhaps it is needless by 
this time to prove to the reader, that Mimus in Mid- 
dle Latinity signifies a Minstrel, and Mimia, Min- 

* Thus Leofc, the Saxon word for a Poem, is properly a 
song, and its derivative Lied signifies a ballad to this day in 
the German tongue : and Caniare, we have seen above, is 
by Alfred himself rendered Be heajapan r-injan. 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



strelsv, or the Minstrel-art. Should he douht it, 
let him cist his eye over the two following extracts 
from Du Cange. 

" Mimus : Musicus, qui instrumentis musicis 
canit. Leges Palatina- Jacobi IT. Reg. JUajoric. In 
doruibus principum, ut tradit antiquitas, IVIinii seu 
Joculatores licite possunt esse. Nam illorum offi- 
cium tribuit hetitiam. . . . Quapropter volumus et 
ordinamus, quod in nostra curia Mimi debeant esse 
quinque, quorum duo sint tubicinatores, et tertius 
sit tabelerius : [i. e. a player on the tabor *.] Lit. 
remiss, ann. 1374. Ad Mimos cornicitantes, seu 
bucinantes accesserunt." 

Mimia, Ludus Mimicus, Instrumentum. [potius, 
Ars Joculatoria.] Ann. 1482. ..." mimia et cantu 
victum acquiro." 

Du Cange, Gloss, torn. iv. 1762. Supp. c. 1225. 

(0) " To have been a Dane."] The northern 
historians produce such instances of the great respect 
shown to the Danish Scalds in the courts of our 
Anglo-Saxon kings, on account of their musical and 
poetic talents, (notwithstanding they were of so 
hateful a nation) that if a similar order of men had 
not existed here before, we cannot doubt but the 
profession would have been taken up by such of the 
natives as had a genius for poetry and music. 

" Extant Rhythmi hoc ipso [Islandico] idiomate 
Angliae, Hyberniaeque Regibus oblati et liberaliter 
compensati, &c. Itaque hinc colligi potest linguam 
Danicam in aulis vicinorum regum, principumque 
familiarem fuisse, non secus ac hodie in aulus prin- 
cipum peregrina idiomata in deliciis haberi cernimus. 
Imprimis Vita Egilli Skallagrimii id invicto argu- 
ments adstruit. Quippe qui interrogatus ab Adal- 
steino, Anglise rege, quomodo manus Eirici Blo- 
doxii, Northumbrian regis, postquam in ejus potes- 
tatem venerat, evasisset, cujus filium propinquosque 
occiderat. . . . rei statim ordinem metro, nunc satis 
obscuro, exposuit nequaquam ita narraturus non 
intelligenti." [Vid plura apud Torfaeii Praefat. ad 
Oread. Hist, fol.] 

This same Egill was no less distinguished for his 
valour and skill as a soldier, than for his poetic and 
singing talents as a Scald ; and he was such a fa- 
vourite with our king Athelstan, that he at one time 
presented him with " duobus annulis et scriniis, 
duobus bene magnis argento repletis. . . . Quinetiam 
hoc addidit, ut Egillus quidvis praeterea a se petens. 
obtineret ; bona mobilia, sive immobilia, pneben- 
dam vel prefectures. Egillus porro regiam munifi- 



• The Tahour or Tabouiin was a common instrument with 
tin- French Minstrels, as it had also been with the Anglo- 
S.ivn: (vid. p. Uix.) tlius in an ancient French MS. in 
ill. II. nl. collection ( - .m3, 75.) a Minstrel is described as 
riding on lima, back and bearing his Tabour. 
" Knti.in SOD col porta son Tabour, 

Depeynl <!»• Or, e riche Aoonr." 
Bee also a passage In Menage*! Diction. Rtysn. [v. Menes- 

in. i -, win i. labours is used as SJ non vinous to Alriu:itri,>s. 
Anoili. i ii..|ii.iii i ii ~ 1 1 ii ttit ut with them was the Yiile. 

Tin-, i mi told, i- the nunc of an Instrument at this day, 
which differs from ■ guitar, In thai the player turns round 
a handle at tin- top of the Instrument, and trlth his other 

band plays M SOBfl ki \ I tli.it tOOCfa the chords and produce 

the sound. 

S. » Dr. Harney's ar.oiint of the Yit lie, vol. ii. p. '263, 
win. think* it the Same with the Jlote, or wheel. See page 
tl9 in the note. 

" II ot mi Joiiqlcor .1 sens, 

Qui navon pas mveni i"i»' entlerei 

SiiMlil > StOll IBM H V nle." 

Fabliaux rl Cout. ii. 184, 5. 



centiam gratus excipiens, Carmen Encomiasticon, a 
se lingua Norvegica (qua; turn his regnis communis) 
compositum, regi dicat ; ac pro eo, duas marcas 
auri puri (pondus marcae . . 8 uucias aequabat) hono- 
rarii loco retulit." [Arngr. Jon. Rer. Islandic. lib. ii 
p. 129.] 

See more of Egill, in the " Five Pieces of Runic 
Poetry," p. 45, whose poem, there translated, is the 
most ancient piece all in rime, that is, I conceive, 
now to be found in any European language, except 
Latin. See Egil's Islandic original, printed at the 
end of the English Version in the said Five 
Pieces, &c. 

(P) " If the Saxons had not been accustomed to 
have Minstrels of their own .... and to show fa- 
vour and respect to the Danish Scalds,''] if this had 
not been the case, we may be assured, at least, that 
the stories given in the text could never have been 
recorded by writers who lived so near the Anglo- 
Saxon times as Malmesbury and Ingulphus, who, 
though they might be deceived as to particular facts, 
could not be so as to the general manners and cus- 
toms which prevailed so near their own times among 
their ancestors. 

(Q) " In Doomesday Book," &c.[ Extract, ex 
Libro Dorneschy : Et vid. Anstis Ord. Gart. ii. 
304. 

Gloicecestesceire. 

Fol. 162. Col. 1. Berdic Joculator Regis habet iii 

villas, et ibi v. car. nil redd. 

That Joculator is properly a Minstrel, might be 
inferred from the two foregoing passages of Geoffrey 
of Monmouth, (v. note K) where the word is used 
as equivalent to Citharista in one place, and to Can- 
tor in the other : this union forms the precise idea of 
the character. 

But more positive proofs have already offered, vid. 
supra, p. xxiv. xxix. xxx. note. See also Du 
Cange's Gloss, vol. iii. c. 1543. " Jogulator pro 
Joculator, — Consilium Masil. an. 1381. Nullus 
Ministreys, Jogulator, audeat pinsare vel sonare 
instrumentum cujuscumque generis," &c. &c. 

As the Minstrel was termed in French Jongleur 
and Jugleur; so he was called in Spanish Jutglar 
and Juglar. " Tenemos canciones y versos para 
recitar muy antiguos y memorias ciertas de los Jug- 
lares, que assistian en los banquetes, como los que 
pinta Homero." Prolog, a las Corned, de Cervantes, 
1749, 4to. 

** El anno 1328, en las siestas de la Coronacion 
del Rey, Don Alonso el I \ r . de Aragon, ... * el 
Juglar Ramaset canto una Villanesca de la Compo- 
sicion del... infante [Don Pedro : y otro Juglar, 
llamado Novellet, recito y represento en voz y sin 
canter mas de 600 versos, que hizo el Infante en el 
metro que llamaban Rima Vulgar." Ibid. 

" Los Trobadores inventaron la Gaya Ciencia . . . 
estos Trobadores eran casi todos de la primers No- 

bleza. Es verdad, que ya entoncesse havian en- 

trometida entre las diversiones Cortesanos, los Con- 
tadont, los Cantor*?, los Juglares, los Truanez. y los 
liujoiirs." Ibid. 

in England the King's Juglar continued tq have 
an establishment La the royal household down to the 
reign of Henry VIII. [vid. Note (C c).] But in 

• " ROM AN8BT JtTia.tn e.mta alt veux.. .devant Io scnyoc 

Rey." Chron. d'Aragon, apod Du Cange, iv. 771. 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



what sense the title was there applied does not ap- 
pear. In Barklay's Egloges written circ. 1514, 
Juglersand Pipers are mentioned together. Egl. iv. 
<vid. T. Wartoh's Hist. ii. 254.) 

(R) " A valiant warrior, named Taillefer," &c] 
See Du Cange, who produces this as an instance, 
" Quod Ministellorum munus interdum praestabant 
mihtes probatissimi. Le Roman De Vacce, MS. 

" Quant il virent Normanz venir 

Mout veissiez Engleiz fremir. . . . 

Taillefer qui mout bien chantoit, 

Sur un cheval, qui tost alloit, 

Devant euls aloit chantant 

De Kallemaigne et de Roullant, 

Et d'Olivier de Vassaux, 

Qui moururent en Rainschevaux. 

" Qui quidem Taillefer a Gulielmo obtinuit ut pri- 
mus in hostes irrueret, inter quos fortiter dimicando 
occubuit." Gloss, torn. iv. 769, 770. 771. 

" Les anciennes chroniques nous apprennent, 
qu'en premier rang de l'Armee Normande, un 
ecuyer nomme Taillefer, monte sur un cheval arme, 
chanta la Chanson de Roland, qui fut si long terns 
clans les bouches des Francois, sans qu'il soit reste 
le moindre fragment, Le Taillefer apres avoir en- 
tonne la chanson que les soldats repetoient, se jetta 
le premier parmi les Anglois, et fut tue." [Voltaire 
Add. Hist. Univ. p. 69. 

The reader will see an attempt to restore the 
Chanson de Roland, with musical notes, in Dr. 
Burney's Hist. ii. p. 276. — See more concerning the 
Song of Roland, Series the Third, p. 189. Note (m.) 

(S) " An eminent French writer," &c] " M. 
l'Eveque de la Ravaliere, qui avoit fait beaucoup de 
recherches sur nos anciennes Chansons, pretend 
que c'est a la Normandie que nous devons nos pre- 
miers Chansonniers, non a la Provence, et qu'il y 
avoit parmi nous des Chansons en langue vulgaire 
avant celles de Provencaus, mais posterieurement 
au Regne Philippe I, ou a l'an 1100." [v. Revolu- 
tions de la Langue Francoise, a la suite des Poesies 
du Roi de Navarre.] " Ce seroit une anteriorite de 
plus d'une demi siecle a 1' epoque des premiers 
Troubadours, que leur historien Jean de Nostre- 
dame fixe a l'an 1162," &c. Pref. a l'Anthologie 
Franc. 8vo. 1765. 

This subject hath since been taken up and prose- 
cuted at length in the Prefaces, &c. to M. Le 
Grand's, *' Fabliaux ou Contes du xne et du xnte 
Siecle, Paris, 1788," 5 torn. 12mo. who seems 
pretty clearly to have established the prioritv and 
superior excellence of the old Rimeurs of the North 
of France over the Troubadours of Provence, &c. 

(S 2) " Their own native Gleemen or Minstrels 
must be allowed to exist."] Of this we have proof 
positive in the old metrical Romance of Horn-Child 
(Series the Third, No. 1, p. 192.) which although 
from the mention of Sarazens, &c. it must havebeeu 
written at least after the first crusade in I096,yet,from 
its Anglo-Saxon language or idiom, can scarce be 
dated later than within a century after the Conquest. 
This, as appears from its very exordium, was in- 
tended to be sung to a popular audience, whether it 
was composed by, or for, a Gleeman, or Minstrel. 
But it carries all the internal marks of being the 
production of such a composer. It appears of ge- 



nuine English growth ; for, after a careful examina- 
tion, I cannot discover any allusion to French or 
Norman customs, manners, composition, or phrase- 
ology : no quotation " As the Romance sayth :" not 
a name or local reference, which was likely to occur 
to a French Rimeur. The proper names are all of 
Northern extraction: Child Horn is the son of 
Allof (i. e. Olaf or Olave) king of Sudenne ( I sup- 
pose Sweden) by his Queen Godylde or Godylt. 
Athulf and Fykeyiyld are the names of subjects. 
Eylmer or Aylmere is king of Westnesse, (a part of 
Ireland), Rymenyld is his daughter ; as Erminyld is 
of another king Thurstan ; whose sons are Athyld 
and Beryld. Athelhrus is steward of K. Aylmer, &c. 
&c. All these savour only of a Northern origin, 
and the whole piece is exactly such a performance 
as one would expect from a Gleeman or Minstrel of 
the North of England, who had derived his art and 
his ideas from his Scaldic predecessors there. So 
that this probably is the original from which was 
translated the old French fragment of Dan Horn, in 
the Harleyan MS. 527, mentioned by Tyrwhitt, 
(Chaucer iv. 68.) and by T. Warton (Hist. i. 38), 
whose extract from Horn-Child is extremely in- 
correct. 

Compare the style of Child-Horn with the Anglo- 
Saxon specimens in short verses and rime, which 
are assigned to the century succeeding the Con- 
quest, in Hickes's Thesaurus, torn. i. cap. 24, p. 224 
and 231. 

(T) " The different production of the sedentary 
composer and the rambling Minstrel."] Among the 
old metrical romances, a very few are addressed to 
readers, or mention reading : these appear to have 
been composed by writers at their desk, and exhibit 
marks of more elaborate structure and invention. 
Such is Eglamour ofArtas (Series the third, No. 20, 
p. 194,) of which I find in a MS. copy in the Cotton 
Library, A 2, folio 3, the II Fitte thus concludes, 
.... thus ferr have I red. 

Such is Ipomydon (Series the third, No. 23, p. 195,) 
of which one of the divisions (Sign. E. ii. b. in pr. 
copy) ends thus, 

Let hym go, God him spede, 

Tyll efte-soone we of him reed [i. e. read.'] 

So in Amys and Amy lion* (Series the third, No. 31 , 
p. 195), in sta.3d we have 

In Geste as we rede, 

and similar phrases occur in stanzas 34, 125, 140, 
196, &c. 

These are all studied compositions, in which the 
story is invented with more skill and ingenuity, and 
the style and colouring are of superior cast to such 
as can with sufficient probability be attributed to the 
minstrels themselves. 

Of this class, I conceive the romance of Horn 
Child (mentioned in the last note (S 2) and in Series 



* It ought to have been observed ia it*, proper place in 
Series the third, No. 31, p. 195, that Amys and Amylion were 
no otherwise " Brothers " than as being fast friends : as was 
suggested by the learned Dr. Samuel Pegge, who was so 
obliging as to favoc- the Essayist formerly with acurious trans- 
cript of this poem accompanied with valuable illustrations, 
&c. ; and that it was his opinion that both the fragment of 
the "Lady Beellesnt" mentionev' in the same No. 31, and 
also the mutilated Tale, No. 37, (p. 3/,' ""ere only imperfect 
copies of the above romance of " Amy "»d Amvlion," 
which contains the two lines quoted in No. 3/. 



xxxn 



NOVES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



the Third, No. 192. p. 1.) which, from the naked 
unadorned simplicity of the story, I would attribute 
to such an origin. 

But more evidently is such the Squire of J.'uv 
Degree,! Series the third, No. 24. p. l'.V).) in which is 
no reference to anv French original, nothing like 
the phrase, which so frequently occurs in others, " As 
the romance sayth*/' or the like. And it is just 
such a rambling performance as one would expect 
from an itinerant Bard. And 

Such also is A lytell Geste of Robyn Hode, &c. in 
8 Fyttes, of which are extant two editions, 4to, in 
black-letter, described more fully in page 21 of this 
work. This is not only of undoubted English 
growth, but, from the constant satire aimed at abbots 
and their convents, See. could not possibly have been 
composed by any monk in his cell. 

Other instances might be produced; but especially 
of the former kind is Syr Launfal, Series the third, 
No. 2, p. 192), the 121st. of which has 

In romances as we rede. 
This is one of the best invented stories of that kind, 
and 1 believe the only one in which is inserted the 
name of the author. 

(T 2) " Rover or Raherusthe King's Minstrel."] 
He is recorded by Leland under both these names, 
in his Collectanea, scil. vol. 1, p. 61. 

" Hospitale S. Bartholomcei in West SmithfelJe in 
London. 
" Rover Mimus Regis fundator." 

** Hosp. Sti. Barthoi. Londini. 
" Raherus Mimus Regis H. 1, primus fundator, an. 
1102, 3 H. 1, qui fundavit etiam Priorat. Sti. Bar- 
thoi." Ibid, page 99. 

That Mimus is properly a Minstrel in the sense 
affixed to the word in this essay, one extract from 
the accounts | Lat. Computis] of the Priory of Max- 
tock, near Coventry, in 1441, will sufficiently show. 
— Scil. " Dat. Sex. Mimus Dni. Clynton cantanti- 
bus, citharisantibus, ludentibus, &c. iiiis. (T. War- 
ton, ii. 106, note q.) The same year, the prior gave 
to a doctor pradicans, for a sermon preached to them, 
only 6d. 

In the Monasticon, torn. ii. p. 166, 167, is a 
curious history of the founder of this priory, and 
ili.' cauM of its erection; which seems exactly such 
a composition as one of those which were manufac- 
tured by Or. Stone, the famous legend-maker, in 
1380 ; (see T. Warton's curious account of him, in 
vol. ii. p. 190, note,) who required no materials to 
assist him in composing his Narratives, cxc. for in 
this legend are no particulars given of the founder, 
but a recital of miraculous visions exciting him to 
tin.-, pious work, of its having been before revealed 

• Wherever the word romance occurs la these metrical 
narrative*, ii bath been thought n> afford decisive prool <•! .i 
translation from the romance or French language. ic 
cordinglj it la m. nrged i>> T. Wartoo, (i. 146, note) from 
two passages in tin- pr. copj of "Sir Eylainour," viz. 
Sign, K. i. 

In romaonce as ire rede. 

Again in fol. alt 

In romaooce thii cronyclc i-. 

But in the Cotuui MS. <.i Mm- ..ii-in.il die first passage i» 
A- I h< nlc .1 (Ink. n (| ( >, 

Ami the otbei that, 

In Roam thii Gest cronyded y$. 
So that I believe rafereacea to " toe Romanoee/* or the 
like were often mere expletive phrases Inserted by the 
"id reciters ; one of whom l conceive had altered or cor- 
rupted the old "Syr Enamour " in the manner th.it the 
copy wai printed. 



to King Edward the Confessor, and predicted by 
three Grecians, &c. Kven his minstrel profession 
is not mentioned, whether from ignorance or design, 
as the profession was, perhaps, falling into discredit 
when this legend was written. There is only a 
general indistinct account that he frequented royal 
and noble houses, where he ingratiated himself sua- 
vitate joculari. (This last is the only word that 
seems to have any appropriated meeting.) This 
will account for the indistinct incoherent account 
given by Stow. " Rahere, a pleasant witted gentle- 
ii. an, and therefore, in his time, called the King's 
Minstrel."— Survay of Loud. Ed. 1598, p. 308. 

(U)"In the early times, every harper was ex- 
pected to sing."J See on this subject King Alfred's 
version of Ca'dmon, above in note (H) page xxvi. 

So in Horn-Child, King Allof orders his steward 
Athelbrus to 

— teche him of harpe and of song. 

In the Squire of Lowe Degree, the king offers to 
his daughter, 

Ye shall have harpe, sautry*, and song. 

And Chaucer, in his description of the Limitour 
or Mendicant Friar, speaks of harping as inseparable 
from singing (i, p. 11, ver. 268.) 

— in his harping, whan that he hadde songe. 

(U2) "As the most accomplished," &c] See 
Hoveden, p. 103, in the following passage, which 
had erroneously been applied to King Richard him- 
self, till Mr. Tyrwhitt (Chaucer, iv. p. 62,) showed 
it to belong to his Chancelor. " Hie ad augmen- 
tum et famam sui nominis, emendicata carmina, et 
rhythmos adulatorios comparabat ; et de regno Fran- 
corum Cantores et Joculatores muneribus allexerat, 
ut de illo canerent in plateis et jam dicebatur ubi- 
que, quod non erat talis in orbe." For other par- 
ticulars relating to this Chancelor, see T. Warton's 
Hist. vol. ii. Addit. to p. 113 of vol. i. 

(U 3) " Both the Norman.and English languages 
would be heard at the houses of the great."] A 
remarkable proof of this is, that the most diligent 
inquirers after ancient English rimes find the earliest 
they can discover in the mouths of the Norman 
nobles. Such as that of Robert, Earl of Leicester, 
and his Flemings in 1173, temp, Hen. II. (little 
more than a century after the Conquest) recorded 
by Lainbarde in his dictionary of England, p. 36. 
Hoppe Wyliken, hoppe Wyliken 
lngland is thine and myne, vXC. 

Ami that noted boasl i^i' Hugh Bigot, Earl of Nor- 
folk, in the same reign of King Henry II. vid. Cani- 
deni Britania, (art. Suffolk) 1607, folio. 

^ ere 1 in my castle of Mungey 

Ypon the riner of Waueney 

1 would ne care for the king of Cockeney. 
Indeed, many of our old metrical romances, 
whether originally English, or translated from the 
French to he sung to an Fnglish audience, are ad 
dressed to persons of high rank, as appears from 

•The Harp (Lat Cit/ium) differed from the Sautry, or 
Psaltry | Lat. J'sa/irrium) in that the former was a itringed 
instrument, and the latter was mounted with wire: there 
was also lome difference in tin- construction of the bellies, 
a.-. Sie " Burtholomseus de proprietatibus renim," as 
Englished l>\ Trevisa and Eatnian, ed. 1584, in Sir J. Haw 
kins' Hiit. L ». 'i85. 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



their beginning thus—" Listen, lordings," and the 

like These were prior to the time of Chaucer, 

as appears from vol. iii. p. 190, et seqq. And yet to 
his time our Norman nobles are supposed to have 
adhered to their French language. 

(V) " That intercommunity, &c. between the 
French and English minstrels," &c,] This might 
perhaps, in a great measure, be referred even to 
the Norman Conquest, when the victors brought 
with them all their original opinions and fables ; 
which could not fail to be adopted by the English 
minstrels and others, who solicited their favour. 
This interchange, &c. between the minstrels of the 
two nations would be afterwards promoted by the 
great intercourse produced among all the nations of 
Christendom in the general crusades, and by that 
spirit of chivalry which led knights and their at- 
tendants, the heralds, and minstrels, &c. to ramble 
about continually from one court to another, in order 
to be present at solemn turuaments, and other feats 
of arms. 

(V 2) " Is not the only instance," &c] The 
constant admission granted to minstrels was so es- 
tablished a privilege, that it became a ready expe- 
dient to writers of fiction. Thus, in the old ro- 
mance of Horn-Child, the Princess Rymenyld being 
confined in an inaccessible castle, the prince, her 
lover, and some Assistant knights, with concealed 
arms, assume the minstrel character, and approach- 
ing the castle with their " Gleyinge" or "Minstrelsy-, 
are heard by the lord of it, who being informed they 
were " harpeirs, jogelers, aud fythelers*," has them 
admitted, when 

Horn sette him abenche [i. e. on a bench.] 
Is [i. e. his] harpe he gan clenche 
He made Rymenild a lay. 

This sets the princess a weeping, and leads to the 
catastrophe ; for he immediately advances to " the 
borde," or table, kills the ravisher, and releases the 
lady. 

(V 3) .."assumed the dress and character of a 
harper, &c."] We have this curious historiette in the 
records of Lacock Nunnery, in Wiltshire, w r hich 
had been founded by this Countess of Salisbury. 
See Vincent's Discovery of Errors in Brooke's 
Catalogue of Nobility, &c. folio, page 445-6, &c. 
Take the following extract (and see Dugdale's 
Baron, i. p. 175. ) 

" Ela uxor Gullielmi Longespee primi, nata fuit 
apud Ambresbiriam, patre et matre Normannis. 

" Pater itaque ejus defectus senio migravit ad 
Christum, A.D. 1196. Mater ejus ante biennium 
obiit Interea Domina charissima clam per 

* Jogeler (Lat. Jaculator) was a very ancient name for 
a Minstrel. Of what nature the performance of the Jocu- 
lator was, we may learn from the Register of St. Swithin's 
Priory at Winchester (T. Wartou, i. 69.) " Et cantabat 
Joculator quidam nomine Herebertus Canticum Colbrondi, 
necuon Gestum Emme regine a judicio ignis liberate, in 
aula Prions." His instrument was sometimes the Fythele, 
or Fiddle, Lat. Fidicula: which occurs in the Anglo-Saxon 
Lexicon. On this subject we have a curious passage from 
a MS. of the Lives of the Saints in metre, supposed to be 
earlier than the year 1200, (T. Warton's Hist. i. p. 17,) viz. 

Christofre him served longe 
The kynge loved melodye much of nthele aad of songe: 
So that his Jogeler on a day beforen him gon to pleye faste, 
Aud in a tytue he nemped in his song the devil at laste. 



cognatos adducta fuit in Normanniam, et ibidem 
sub tuta et arcta custodia nutrita. Eodem tempore 
in Anglia fuit quidam miles nomine Gulielmus Tal- 
bot, qui induit se habitum Peregrini [Anglice, a 
pilgrim] in Normanniam transfretavit et moratus per 
duos annos, hue atque illuc vagans, ad exploran- 
dam dominam Elam Saram, Et illa\ inventa exuit 
habitum Peregrini, et induit se quasi Cytharisator 
et curiam ubi morabatur intravit. Et ut erat homo 
Jocosus, in Gestis Antiquorum valde peritus, ibidem 
gratanter fuit acceptus quasi familiaris. Et quando 
tempus aptum invenit, in Angliam repatriavit, habens 
secum istam venerabilem dominam Elam et haere- 
dam comitatus Sarum ; et earn Regi Richardo prae- 
sentavit. Ac ille laetissime earn suscepit, et Fratri 
suo Guilellmo Longespee maritavit.. .. 

" A.D. 1226, Dominus Guill. Longespee primus 
nonas Martii obiit. Ela vero uxor ejus 7 annis 

supervixit Una die duo monasteria fundavit 

primo mane xvi Kal. Maii, A.D. 1232, apud Lacock, 
in quo sanctae degunt Canonissae . . . . Et Henton 
post nonam, anno vero astatis suae xlv. &c." 

(W) For the preceding account, Dugdale refers 
to Monast. Angl. i. [r. ii.] p. 185, but gives it as 
enlarged by D. Powel, in his Hist, of Cambria, 
p. 196, who is known to have followed ancient 
Welsh MSS. The words in the Monasticon are — 
" Qui accersitis Sutoribus Cestriae et Histrionibus, 
festinanter cum exercitu suo venit domino suo facere 
succursum. Walenses vero videntes multitudinem 
^magnam venientem, relicta obsidione fugerunt .... 
Et propter hoc dedit comes antedictus .... Con- 
stabulario dominationem Sutorum et Histrionum. 
Constabularius vero retinuit sibi et haeredibus suis 
dominationem Sutorum : et histrionum dedit vero 
Seneschallo." (So the passage should apparently 
be pointed ; but either et or vero seems redundant.) 

We shall see below in note (Z) the proper import 
of the word Histriones : but it is very remarkable that 
this is not the word used in the grant of the Con- 
stable De Lacy to Dutton, but " Magisterium om- 
nium Leccatorum et Meretricium totius Cestreshire, 
sicut liberius ilium [sic] Magisterium teneo de Co- 
mite." (vid. Blount's Ancient Tenures, p. 156.) 
Now, as under this grant the heirs of Dutton confes- 
sedly held for many ages ^.magisterial j urisdiction over 
all the Minstrels and Musicians of that County, and 
as it could not be conveyed by the word Meretricis, 
the natural inference is that the Minstrels were ex- 
pressed by the term Leccatores. It is true, Du Cange, 
compiling his Glossary, could only find in the wri- 
ters he consulted this word used in the abusive 
sense, often applied to every synonyme of the spor- 
tive and dissolute Minstrel, viz. Scurra, vaniloquus, 
parasitus, epulo, &c. (This I conceive to be the 
proper arrangement of these explanations, which 
only express the character given to the Minstrel 
elsewhere : see Du Cange passim and notes, (C) 
(E) (F) (I). But he quotes an ancient MS. in 
French metre, wherein the Leccour (Lat. Lec- 
cator) and the Minstrel are joined together, as 
receiving from Charlemagne a grant of the territory 
of Provence, and from whom the Proven cal Trouba- 
dours were derived, &c. See the passage above in 
note (C) pag. xxv. 

The exception in favour of the family of Dutton 
is thus expressed in the Statute, Anno 39 Eliz. chap, 
iv. entitled, "An Act for punishment of Rogues, 
Vagabonds, and Sturdy Beggars." 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY 



"§ II. . . . All Fencers, Rearwards, Common 
Players of Enterludes, and Minstrels, wandering 
■bread, (other than Players of Enterludes belonging 
t<i anv Baron of this Realm, or any other honourable 
Personage of greater degree, to be authorised to play 
under the hand and seal of arms of such Baron or 
Personage:) all Juglers, Tinkers, Pedlers, 6cc. . . . 
shall be adjudged and deemed Rogues, Vagabonds, 
and Sturdy Beggars, &c. 

"§ X. Provided always that this Act, or any 
tiling therein contained, or any authority thereby 
given, shall not in any wise extend to disinherit, 
prejudice, or hinder John Dutton of Dutton, in the 
county of Chester, Esquire, his heirs or assigns, for, 
touching or concerning any liberty, preheminence, 
authority, jurisdiction, or inheritance, which thesaid 
John Dutton now lawfully useth, or hath, or law- 
fully may or aught to use within the County-Palatine 
of Chester, and the County of the City of Chester, 
or either of them, by reason of any ancient Charters 
of any Kings of this Land, or by reason of any pre- 
scription, usage, or title whatsoever." 

The same clauses are renewed in the last Act on 
this subject, passed in the present Reign of Geo. 
III. 

(X) "Edward I at the knighting of his 

son," Sec] See Nic. Triveti Annales, Oxon. 1719, 
8vo. p. 342. 

" In festo Pentecostes Rex filium suum armis mi- 
litaribus cinxit, et cum eo Comites Warenniae et 
Arundeliae, aliosque, quorum numerus ducentos et 
quadraginta dicitur excessisse. Eodem die cum se- 
disset Rex in mensa, novis militibus circumdatus, 
ingressa Ministrellorum Multitudo, portantium niul- 
tiplici ornatu amictum, ut milites praecipue novos 
invitarent, et inducerent, ad vovendum factum ar- 
morum aliquod coram signo." 

(Y) " By an express regulation, &c. v ] See in 
Hearne's Append, ad Lelandi Collectan. vol. vi. p. 
S6. " A Dietarie, Writtes published after the Ordi- 
nance of Earles and Barons, Anno Dom. 1315." 

" Edward by the grace of God, &c. to Sheriffes, 
&c. greetying. Forasmuch as many idle per- 
sons, under colour of Mynstrelsie, and going in 
in-— ages, and other faigned busines, have ben and 
yet be receaved in other mens houses to meate and 
drynke, and be not therwith contented yf they be 
not largely consydered with gyftes of the Lordes of 

the houses : &c We wyllyng to restrayne 

suche outrageous enterprises and idleness, &.c. have 
ordeyned .... that to the houses of Prelates, Earh s, 
and Barons, none resort to meate and drynke, un- 
lesse he be a Mynstrel, and of these .Minstrels that 
there come none except it be three or four Minstrels 
of honour at tin- most m one day, unlesse he be de- 
sired of the Lords Of the House. And to the houses 
of meaner men that none come unlesse he he desired, 
and that such as shall come so, holde themselves 
contented with meate and drynke and with such eui- 

tesaeesthe Maisterof the House wyl shews unto 
then of his owns rood wyll, without their sskyng 

of any thyng. And yl'anv one do Sgaynsl tins Or- 
dinaunce, at the lirste time he to lose Ins Mnistrel- 
rie, and at the second tyme to lorsweare his craft, 
and never to he receaved for a Minstrel in any 

bones Vem at I angley the vi. day of August 

in the ix yere ot our reigne." 

1 hese abuses arose again to as great a height SS 



ever in little more than a century after, in conse- 
quence, I suppose, of the licentiousness that 
crept in during the civil wars of York and Lan- 
caster. This appears from the Charter 9 E. IV, 
referred to in p. xlv. " Ex querulosa insinuatione. . . 
Ministrallorum nostrorum nccepimus qualiter non- 
nulli rudes agricola? et artifices diversarum miste- 
rarum regni nostri Anglian, finxerunt se fore Min- 
istrallos, quorum aliqui Liberatam nostram eis 
minirae datam portarent, seipsos etiam fingentes esse 
Minstrallos nostros proprios, cujus quidem Liberatae 
ac dicta? artis sive occupationis Ministrallorum 
colore, in diversis partibus regni nostri prasdicti 
grandes pecuniarum exactiones de ligeis nostris de- 
ceptive colligunt, &c." 

Abuses of this kind prevailed much later in Wales, 
as appears from the famous Commission issued out 
in 9 Eliz. (1567), for bestowing the Silver Harp on 
the best Minstrel, Rythmer, or Bard, in the princi- 
pality of North Wales ; of which a fuller account 
will be given below in note (B b 3). 

(Z) " It is thus related by Stow."] See his Sur- 
vey of London, &c. fol. 1633, p. 521. [Ace. of 
Westm. Hall.] Stow had this passage from Walsing- 

ham's Hist. Ang " Intravit quaedam mulier 

ornata Histrionali habitu, equum bonum insidens 
Histrionaliter phaleratum, quie mensas more Histri- 
onum circuivit ; et tandem ad Regis mensam per 
gradus ascendit, et quandam literam coram rege po- 
suit, et retracto framo (salutatis ubique discumben- 
tibus) prout venerat ita recessit," &e. Anglic. 
Norm. Script. &c. Franc. 1603, fol. p. 109. 

It may be observed here that Minstrels and others 
often rode on horseback up to the royal table, when 
the Kings were feasting in their great halls. See in 
this work, page 18. 

The answer of the Porters (when they were after- 
wards blamed for admitting her) also deserves atten- 
tion. " Non esse moris domus regis: Histriones ab 
ingressu quomodolibet prohibere," &c. Walsingh. 

That Stow rightly translated the Latin word His- 
trio here by Minstrel, meaning a musician that sung, 
whose subjects were stories of chivalry, admits of 
easy proof: for in the Gesta Romanorum, chap. cxi. 
Mercury is represented as coming to Argus in the 
character of a Minstrel ; when he incipit, more His. 
trionico, fabulas dicere, et plerumque cantare." (T. 
Warton, iii. p. li.) And Muratori cites a passage in 
an old Italian chronicle, wherein mention is made of 

B stage erected at Milan " Super quo Histriones 

cantabant, sicut modo cantatur de Rolando et Oli- 
verio." Antich. Ital. ii. p. 6. (Observ. on the 
Statutes, 1th. edit. p. 36'2.) 

Sec also (E) pag. xxv. &c. (F) p. xxvi. &c. 

(A a) " There should seem to have been women 
of this profession."] This may be inferred from the 
variety of names appropriated to them in the middle 
ages, viz: Anglo-Sax. Elipmefcen, [Glee-maiden] 
&C. ^lypien'fcemat'en, jlypbyceneptria. vid. supra 
l>. xxvi.) 1>. Jenglerem, Med. Lat Joeulatrix, Mi- 
nistralissa, Femma Ministerialis, <\c. (vid. Du Cange 
Gloss, and Suppl.) 

See what is said in page xlv. concerning the 
" sisters of the fraternity of Minstrels;" see also a 
passage quoted by Dr. l.urney (ii S15), from Mu- 
ratori, of the Chorus of women singing through the 
Streets accompanied with musical instruments in 
126ft 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



Had the female described by Walsingham been a 
Tombestere, or dancing-woman (see Tyrwhitts 
Chaucer, iv. 307, and v. Gloss.), that historian would 
probably have used the word Saltatrix. (See T. 
Warton, i. 240, note m.) 

These Saltatrices were prohibited from exhibiting 
in churches and church-yards along with Joculatores, 
Histrimes, with whom they were sometimes classed, 
especially by the rigid ecclesiastics, who censured, 
in the severest terms, all these sportive characters. 
( V'id. T. Warton, in loco citato, et vide supra not. 

And here I would observe, that although Fauchet 
and other subsequent writers affect to arrange the 
several members of the minstrel profession, under 
the different classes of Troverres (or Troubadours) 
Chanterres, Conteours, and Jugleurs,hc. (vid. page lx.), 
as if they were distinct and separate orders of men, 
clearly distinguished from each other by these ap- 
propriate terms, we find no sufficient grounds for 
this in the oldest writers ; but the general names in 
Latin, Histrio, Mimus, Joculator, Ministrallus, &c. ; 
in French, Menestrier, Menestrel, Jongleur, Jugleur, 
&c. ; and in English, Jogeleur, Jugler, Minstrel, and 
the like, seem to be given them indiscriminately. 
And one or other of these names seems to have been 
sometimes applied to every species of men whose 
business it was to entertain or divert (jocuton) 
whether with poesy, singing, music, or gesticula- 
tion, singly, or with a mixture of all these. Yet as 
all men of this sort were considered as belonging to 
one class, order, or community (many of the above 
arts being sometimes exercised by the same person), 
they had all of them doubtless the same privileges, 
and it equally throws light upon the general history 
of the profession, to show what favour or encourage- 
ment was given, at any particular period of time, to 
any one branch of it. I have not therefore thought 
it needful to inquire, whether, in the various pas- 
sages quoted in these pages, the word Minstrel, &c. 
is always to be understood in its exact and proper 
meaning of a singer to the harp, &c. 

That men of very different arts and talents were 
included under the common name of Minstrels, &c. 
appears from a variety of authorities. Thus we 
have Menestrels de Trompes, and Menestrels de Bouche, 
in the Suppl. to Du Cange, c. 1227, and it appears 
still more evident from an old French Rhymer, 
whom 1 shall quote at large. 

" Le Quens* manda les Menestrels ; *Le Compte. 

Et si a fett crier entre els, t fait. 

Qui la meillor truffe $ sauroit $ Sornette, [a gibe, 

Dire, ne faire, qu'il auroit (a jest, or flouting.] 

Sa robe d' escarlate neuve. 

L'uns Menestrels a l'autre reuve 

Fere son mestier, tel qu'il sot, 

Li uns fet l'yvre, 1' autre sot ; 

Li uns chante, li autre note ; 

Et li autres dit la riote ; 

Et li autres la jenglerie § ; § Janglerie, babillage, 

Cil qui sevent de jonglerie [raillerie. 

Vielent par devant le Conte ; 

Acuns ja qui fabliaus conte 

II i ot dit mainte risee," &c. 

Fabliaux et Contes, 12mo, torn. ii. p. 161. 

And what species of entertainment was afforded 
by the ancient Juggleurs, we learn from the following 
citation from an old romance, written in 1230. 

" Quand les tables ostees furent 

Cil juggleurs in pies esturent 



S'ont vielles, et harpes prisees 
Chansons, sons, vers, et reprisas 
Et gestes, chante nos ont." 

Sir J. Hawkins, ii. 44, from Andr. Du Chene. 
See also Tyrwhitt's Chaucer, iv. p. 299. 

All the before mentioned sports went by the 
general name of Ministralcia, Ministellorum Ludicra, 
&c. — " Charta an. 1377, apud Rymer, vii. p. 160. 
• Peracto autem prandio, ascendebat D. Rex in came- 
ram suam cum Praelatis, Magnatibus, et Proceribus 
praedictis : et deinceps Magnates Milites, et Domini, 
aliique Generosi diem ilium, usque ad tempus coenae, 
in Tripediis coreis et solempnibus Ministralciis, prae 
gaudio solempnitatis illius continuarunt.' " (Du 
Cange, Gloss. 773.) [This was at the Coronation of 
King Richard II.] 

It was common for the minstrels to dance, as well 
as to harp and sing (see above, note (E) p. lxiv.) 
Thus, in the old romance of Tirante el Blanco ; Val. 
1511, the 14th cap. lib. ii. begins thus, " Despues 
que las mesas fueron alcadas vinieron los minis- 
triles ; y delante del Rey, y de la Reyna dancaron 
un rato : y despues truxeron colacion." 

They also probably, among their other feats, 
played tricks of sleight of hand, hence the word 
Jugler came to signify a performer of legerdemain : 
and it was sometimes used in this sense (to which it 
is now appropriated) even so early as the time of 
Chaucer, who in his Squire's Tale (ii. 108) speaks 
of the horse of brass, as 

like 

An apparence ymade by som magike, 
As Jogelours plaien at thise festes grete. 
See also the Frere's Tale, p. 279. v. 7049. 

(A a 2) " Females playing on the Harp."] Thus 
in the old Romance of " Syr Degore ( or Degree," 
Series the third, No. 22. p. 194.) wehave [Sign. D. i.] 
The lady, that was so faire and bright, 
Upon her bed she sate down ryght ; 
She harped notes swete and fine. 
[Her mayds filled a piece of wine.] 
And Syr Degore sate him downe, 
For to hear the harpes sowne. 

The 4th line being omitted in the pr. copy is sup- 
plied from the folio MS. 

In the "Squyr of lowe Degree"(Seriesthethird,No. 

24, p. 195.) the king says to his daughter [Sign. D. i..] 
Ye were wont to harpe and syng, 
And be the meryest in chamber comyng. 
In the " Carle of Carlisle," (Series the third, No. 

193, p. 29.) we have the following passage. [Folio 

MS. p. 451, v. 217.] 

Downe came a lady faire and free, 
And sett her on the Carles knee : 
One whiles shee harped another whiles song, 
Both of paramours and louinge amonge. 
And in the Romance of " Eger and Grime" 

(Series the third, No. 12, p. 194.) we have [Ibid. 

p. 127. col. 2.] in Part I. v. 263. 

The ladye fayre of hew and hyde 

Shee sa'e downe by the bed side 

Shee laid a souter [psaltry] vpon her knee 

Theron shee plaid full lovesomelye. 

. . . And her 2 maydens sweetlye sange. 

A similar passage occurs in Part IV. v. 129. (page 
136.) — But these instances are sufficient. 



NOTES OX THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



(B b) " A charter .... to appoint a king of the 
Minstrels."] Intitled Carta Le Royde Ministraulr. 
fin Latin Histruvies, vid. Plott, p. 437.) A copy of 
this charter is printed in Monast. Anglic, i. 355, 
and in Blount's Law. Diction. J 7 17. (art. King.) 

That this was a most respectable officer, both 
here and on the Continent, will appear from the 

Eassages quoted below, and therefore it could only 
ave been in modern times, when the proper mean- 
ing of the original terms Ministraulz, and Histriones, 
was forgot, that he was called King of the Fidlers ; 
on which subject see below, Note (E e 2). 

Concerning the King of the Minstrels we have 
the following curious passages collected by Du 
Cange, Gloss, iv 773. 

" Rex Ministellorum ; supremus inter Ministel- 
los : decujus munere, potestate in cseteros Ministellos 
agit Charta Henrici IV. Regis Anglian in Monast. 

Anglicano, torn. i. pag. 355. Charta originalis 

an. 1338. Je Robert Caveron Roy des Menestreuls 
du Royaume de France. Alia? ann. 1357 et 1362. 
Copin de Brequin Roy des Menestres du Royaume 
de France. Computum de auxiliis pro redemptione 
Regis Johannis, ann. 1367. Pour une Couronne 
d'argent qu'il donna le jour de la Tiphaine au Roy 
des Menestrels. 

" Regestum Magnorum Dierum Trecensium an. 
1296. Super quod Joannes dictus Charmillons 
Juglator, cui Dominus Rex per suas literas tanquam 
Regem Juglatorum in civitate Trecensi Magisterium 
Juglatorura, quemadmodum suae placeret voluntati, 
concesserat." Gloss, c. 1587. 

There is a very curious passage in Pasquier's 
" Recherches de la France," Paris, 1633, folio, 
liv. 7. ch. 5. p. 61 1, wherein he appears to be at a 
loss how to account for the title of Le Roy assumed 
by the old composers of metrical Romances ; in one 
of which the author expressly declares himself to 
have been a Minstrel. The solution of the difficulty, 
that he had been Le Roy des Menestrels, will be 
esteemed more probable than what Pasquier here 
advances ; for I have never seen the title of Prince 
given to a Minstrel, &c. scil. — " A nos vieux 
Poetes . . .comme . . fust qu'ils eussent certain jeux 
de prix en leurs Poesies, ils . . . . honoroient du 
nome, tantot de Roy, tantot de Prince, celuy qui 
avoit le mieux faict comme nous voyons entre les 
Archers, Arbalestiers, et Harquebusiers estre fait le 
semblable. Ainsi l'Autheur du Roman d'Oger le 
Danois s'appelle Roy. 

" Icy endroict est cil Livre finez 
Qui des enfans Oger est appellez 
Or vueille Diex qu'il soit parachevez 
En tel maniere kestre n'en puist blamez 
Le Roy Adams [r. Adenes] ki il' est nmez. 
'* Et en celuy de Cleom&des, 

" Ce Livre de Cleomades 
Rimt* je le Roy Adenes 
Menestre au ban One Henry. 

" Biol de Roy, qui seroit tres-mal approprie* p nn 
Meneetrier, ri d'allleura on ne le rapportoil & on 
jeu du pria : Et de fiucl il semble que de oostre 
tniijis, il y en eual eneorea quelque ramarquea, en 
eeqne le mot de Jouingleur a'eatant ]>ar aneeeaaion 
de temps t < » 1 1 r 1 1 *"• en batelage, noua avona <reu en 
nostre jeuneaae lea Jouingleurs Be trouver a certain 
jour tons lee ana en la ville de ( bauny an Picardie, 

|»(>ur fibre monstre de lrnr m.-t i i< r devant le monde, 

a qui inifiix. Et oe qnej'en dia icy n'eet pea poar 
rilipender cea ancient Etimeura, ainaipour monatrer 



qu'il n'y a chose si belle qui ne s'aneantisse avec le 

temps." 

We see here that in the time of Pasquier the poor 
Minstrel was sunk into as low estimation in France, 
as he was then or afterwards in England : but by 
his apology for comparing the Jouingleurs, who 
assembled to exercise their faculty, in his youth, to 
the ancient Rimeurs, it is plain they exerted their 
skill in rhime. 

As for King Adenes, or Adenez, (whose name in 
the first passage above is corruptly printed Adams,) 
he is recorded in the " Bibliotheques des Romans, 
Amst. 1734," 12mo. vol. i. p. 232, to have composed 
the two Romances in verses above mentioned, and a 
third entitled Le Roman de Bertin : all three being 
preserved in a MS. written about 1270. His Bon 
Due Henry I conceive to have been Henry Duke of 
Brabant. 

(B b 2) " King of the Minstrels," &c] See 
Antis's Register of the Order of the Garter, ii. p. 303, 
who tells us " The President or Governour of the 
Minstrels had the like denomination of Roy in France 
and Burgundy: and in England, John of Gaunt 
constituted such an officer by a patent ; and long 
before his time payments were made by the crown to 
[a] King of the Minstrels by Edw. I. Regi Roberto 
Ministrallo scutifero ad arma commoranti ad vadia 
Regis anno 5to. [Bihl. Cotton. Vespas. c. 16. f. 3.] ; 
as likewise [Libro Garderob. 25 E. I.] Ministrallis 
in die nuptiarum Comitissae Holland Alias Regis, 
Regi Pago, Johanni Vidulatori, &c. Movello Regi, 
&c. Druetto Monthant, et Jacketto de Scot. Regibus, 
cuilibet eorum xl. s. Regi Pagio de Hollandia, &c. 
Under Ed. II. we likewise find other entries, Regi 
Roberto et aliis Ministrallis facientibus Menistrallias 
[iMinistralcias qu.] suas coram Rege [Bibl. Cotton. 
Nero. c. 8. p. 84. b. Comp. Garderob.] That king 
granted Willielmo de Morlee dicto Roy de North, 
Ministrallo Regis, domos quae fuerunt Johannis le 
Botoler dicti Roy Brunhaud. [Pat. de terr. foris- 
fact. 16 E. III.]" He adds below (p. 304) a similar 
instance of a Rex Juglatorum, and that the " King of 
the Minstrels," at length was styled in France Roy 
de Violins, (Furetiere Diction. Univers.) as with us 
" King of the Fidlers ;" on which subject see below, 
note (E e 2). 

(B b 3) The Statute 4 Hen. IV. (1402) c. n, 
runs in these terms, " Item, pur eschuir plusieurs 
diseases et mischiefs qont advenuz devaunt ces 
heures en la terre de Gales par plusieurs Westours, 
Rymours, Minstralx et autres Vacabondes, ordeig- 
nez est et establiz qe nul Westour, Rymour, Min 
stral ne Yacabond soit aucunement sustenuz en la 
terre de Gales pur faire kymorthas ou coillage sur la 
commune poeple illoeques." This is among the se- 
vere laws against the Welsh, passed during the 
resentment occasioned by the outrages committed 
under Owen Glendour; and as the Welsh Bards 
bad excited their countrymen to rebellion against 
the English Government, it is not to be wondered, 
thai the Act is conceived in terms of the utmost 
indignation and contempt against this class of men, 

who are described as Rymours, Ministral.v, which , 
are apparently here used as only synonymous terms 

to express the Welsh Bards with the usual exu- 
berance of our Acts of Parliament : for if their Mi- 
nwtralx had been mere musicians, they would not 
have required the vigilance of the English legisla- 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



ture to suppress them. It was their songs exciting 
their countrymen to insurrection which produced 
" les diseases et mischiefs en la Terre de Gales." 

It is also submitted to the reader, whether the 
same application of the terms does not still more 
clearly appear in the Commission issued in 1567, 
and printed in Evan Evans's Specimens of Welsh 
Poetry, 1764, 4to. p. v. for bestowing the Silver 
Harp on " the chief of that faculty." For after 
setting forth " that vagrant and idle persons, naming 
themselves Minstrels, Rythmers, and Bards, had lately 
grown into such intolerable multitude within the 
Principality in North Wales, that not. only gentle- 
men and others by their shameless disorders are 
oftentimes disquieted in their habitations, but, also 
expert Minstrels and Musicians in tonge and cunynge 
thereby much discouraged, &c." and " hindred [of] 
livings and preferment," &c. it appoints a time and 
place, wherein all " persons that intend to maintain 
their living by name or colour of Minstrels, Rythmers, 
or Bards," within five shires of North Wales, " shall 
appear to show their learnings accordingly, &.c." 
And the Commissioners are required to admit such 
as shall be found worthy, into and under the degrees 
heretofore in use, so that they may " use, exercise, 
and follow the sciences and faculties of their pro- 
fessions in such decent order as shall appertain to 
each of their degrees." And the rest are to return 
to some honest labour, &c. upon pain to be taken as 
sturdy and idle vagabonds, &c. 

(B b 4) Holingshed translated this passage from 
Tho. de Elmham's " Vita et Gesta Henrici V." scil. 
" Soli Omnipotenti Deo se velle victoriam imputari 
.... in tantum, quod cantus de suo triumpho fieri, 
seu per Citharistas vel alios quoscunque cantari 
penitus prohibebat." [Edit. Hearnii, 1727, p. 72.] 
As in his version Holingshed attributes the making 
as well as singing dities to Minstrels, it is plain he 
knew that men of this profession had been accus- 
tomed to do both. 

(C c) "The Household Book," &c] See Sec- 
tion V. 

" Of the Nombre of all my lords Servaunts." 
" Item, Mynstrals in Houshold iii. viz. A Taberet, 
a Luyte, and a Rebecc." [The Rebeck was a kind 
of Fiddle with three strings.] 

Sect. XL1V. 3. 
" Rewardes to his lordship's Servaunts, &c." 
" Item, My lord usith ande accustomith to gyf 
yerly, when his lordschipp is at home, to his Min- 
strallis that be daily in his household, as his Tabret, 
Lute, ande Rebeke, upon New Yeresday in the 
mornynge when they do play at my lordis chamber 
dour for his Lordschip and my Lady, xx. s. Viz. 
xiii. s. iiii. d. for my Lord ; and vi. s. viii. d. for my 
Lady, if sche be at my lords fyndynge, and not at 
hir owen ; and for playing at my lordis Sone and 
Heire's chamber doure, the lord Percy, ii. s. And 
for playinge at the chamber doures of my lords 
Yonger Sonnes, my yonge masters, after viii. d. the 
pece for every of them. xxiii. s. iiii. d." 

Sect. XLIV. 2. 
" Rewards to be geven to strangers, as Players, 

Mynstralls, or any other, &c. 
" F^st, my lorde usith and accustomyth to gif to 



the Kings Jugler ; . . . .when they custome to come 
unto him yerly, vi. s. viii. d. 

" Item, my lorde usith and accustomyth to gif 
yerely to the kings or queenes Bearwarde, if they 
have one, when they custom to come unto him yerly, 
— vi. s. viii. d. 

" Item, my lorde usith and accustomyth to gyfe 
yerly to every Erles Mynstrellis, when they custome 
to come to hym yerely, iii. s. iiii. d. And if they 
come to my lorde seldome, ones in ii or iii yeres, 
than vi. s. viii. d. 

" Item, my lorde usith and accustomedeth to gife 
yerely to an Erls Mynstralls, if he be his speciall 
lorde, friende, or kynsman, if they come yerely to 
his lordschip .... And, if they come to my ' lord ' 
seldome, ones in ii or iii years. ..." 

****** 

" Item, my lorde usith and accustomyth to gyf 
yerely a Dookes or Erlis Trumpetts, if tbey come vi 
together to his lordschipp, viz. if they come yerly, 
vi. s. viii. d. And, if they come but in ii or iii 
yeres, than x. s. 

" Item, my lorde usith and accustometh to gife 
yerly, when his lordschip is at home, to gyf to the 
Kyngs Shawmes, when they com to my lorde yerely, 

x. s." 

***** 

I cannot conclude this note without observing, 
that in this enumeration the family Minstrels seem 
to have been Musicians only, and yet both the Earl's 
Trumpets and the King's Shawmes are evidently 
distinguished from the Earl's Minstrels, and the 
King's Jugler : Now we find Jugglers still coupled 
with Pipers in Barklay's Egloges, circ. 1514. (War- 
ton, ii. 254.) 

(C c 2) The honours and rewards conferred on 
Minstrels, &c. in the middle ag^^-were excessive, 
as will be seen by many instances in these volumes ; 
v. notes (E) (F) &c. But more particularly with 
regard to English Minstrels, &c. see T. War- 
ton's Hist, of Eng. Poetry, i. p. 89—92, 116, &c. 
ii. 105, 106, 254, &c. Dr. Burney's Hist of Music, 
ii. p. 316—319, 397—399, 427, 428. 

On this head, it may be sufficient to add the fol- 
lowing passage from the Fleta, lib. ii. c. 23. " Of- 
ficium Elemosinarij est..Equos relictos, Robas, 
Pecuniam, et alia ad Elemosinam largiter recipere et 
fideliter distribuere ; debet etiam Regem super Ele- 
mosinae largitione crebris summonitionibus stimulare 
et praecipue diebus Sanctorum, et rogare ne Robas 
suas quae magni sunt precij Histrionibus, Blandito- 
ribus, Adulatoribus, Accusatoribus, vel Menestral- 
lis, sed ad Elemosinae suae incrementum jubeat 
largiri." Et in c. 72. " Ministralli, vel Adulatoris." 

(D d) *' A species of men who did not sing, 
&c."] It appears from the passage of Erasmus here 
referred to, that there still existed in England of that 
species of Jongleurs or Minstrels, whom the French 
called by the peculiar name of Conteours, or Reciters 
in prose. It is in his Ecclesiastes, where he is speak- 
ing of such preachers as imitated the tone of Beggars 
or Mountebanks : — " Apud Anglos est simile genus 
hominum, quales apud Italos sunt Circulatores 
[Mountebanks] de quibus modo dictum est ; qui 
irrumpunt in convivia Magnatum, aut in Cauponas 
Vinarias ; et argumentum aliquod, quod edidicerunt, 
recitant ; puta mortem omnibus dominari, autlauden* 
matrimonii. Sed quoniam ea lingua monosyllabic 



NOTES ON THE FORKGOLNG ESSAY. 



fere ooostat, qnemadmodum Germanica; atque illi 
[sc. this peculiar species of Reciters] studio vitant 
cantuin, nobis (ac Krasnius, who did not understand 
a word of English) latrare videntur verius quam 
loqui." Opera, torn. v. c. 958. (Jortin, vol. ii. 
p. 193.) As Erasmus was correcting the vice of 
Preachers, it was more to his point to bring an in- 
stance from the Moral Reciters of Prose than from 
Chanters of Rime ; though the latter would proba- 
bly be more popular, and therefore more common. 

(E e) This character is supposed to have been 
suggested by descriptions of Minstrels in the ro- 
mance of " Morte Arthur;" but none, it seems, 
have been found, which come nearer to it than the 
following, which I shall produce, not only that the 
reader may judge of the resemblance, but to show 
how nearly the idea of the Minstrel character given 
in this Essay corresponds with that of our old 
writers. 

Sir Lancelot, having been affronted by a threaten- 
ing abusive letter, which Mark King of Cornwal 
had sent to Queen Guenever, wherein he " spake 
shame by her, and Sir Lancelot," is comforted by a 
knight named Sir Dinadan, who tells him " I will 
make a Lay for him, and when it is made, I shall 
make an Harper to sing it before him. So anon he 
went and made it, and taught it an Harper, that 
hyght Elyot ; and when hee could it, bee taught it 
to many Harpers. And so.... the Harpers went 
straight unto Wales and Cornwaile to sing the Lay 
.... which was the worst Lay that ever Harper sung 
with harpe, or with any other instrument. And [at 
a] great feast that King Marke made for joy of [a] 

victorie which hee had came Eliot the Harper; . . 

and because he was a curious Harper, men heard 
him sing the same Lay that Sir Dinadan had made, 
the which spake the most vilanie by King Marke of 
his treason, that ever man heard. When the Harper 
had sung his song to the end, King Marke was 
wonderous wroth with him, and said, Thou Harper, 
how durst thou be so bold to sing this song before 
me ? Sir, said Eliot, wit you well I am a Minstrell, 
and I must doe as I am commanded of these Lords 
that / bear the aiines of. And, Sir King, wit you well 
that Sir Dinadan a knight of the Round Table made 
this song, and he made me to sing it before you. 
Thou saiest well, said King Marke, I charge thee 
that thou hie thee fast out of my sight. So the 
Harper departed, &c." [Part II. c. 113, ed. 1631. 
See also Part 111. c. 5.] 

(E e 2) " This Act seems to have put an end to 
the profession," &c] Although I conceive that the 
character ceased to exist, yet the appellation might 
be continued, and applied to Fidlers, or other com- 
mon Musicians : which will account for the mistakes 
of Sir Peter Leicester, or other modern writers. 
(See his Historical Antiquities of Cheshire, 1673, 
p. 111.) 

In this sense it is used in an Ordinance in the 
times of Cromwell, (1656,) wherein it is enacted, 
that if any of the " persons commonly Called Fidlers 
or .Minstrels shall at anv time be taken playing, 
fulling, and making music in any Inn, Ale-house, or 
Tavern, or .shall he t;iken proffering themselves, or 

desiring, or intreating any.. ..to heir them | lay or 

make music in any of the places aforesaid ;" they 
are to be " adjudged and declared to he rogues, vaga- 
bonds, and sturdy beggars." 



This will also account why John of Gaunt'9 '* King 
of the Minstrels" at length came to be called, like 
Le Boy des Violent in France, v. note (B b 2), 
" King of the Fidlers." See the common ballad 
entitled " The Pedigree, Education, and Marriage of 
Robinhood with Clorinda, Queen of Tutbury Feast :" 
which, though prefixed to the modern collection on 
that subject*, seems of much later date than most of 
the others ; for the writer appears to be totally 
ignorant of all the old traditions concerning this 
celebrated outlaw, and has given him a very elegant 
bride instead of his old noted Lemman *' Maid 
Marian;" who together with his chaplain "Frier 
Tuck" were his favourite companions, and probably 
on that account figured in the old Morice Dance, as 
may be seen by the engraving in Mr. Steevens's and 
Mr. Malone's Editions of Shakespeare : by whom 
she is mentioned, 1 Hen. IV, act iii, sc. 3. (See also 
Warton, i. 246. ii. 237.) Whereas, from this ballad's 
concluding with an exhortation to " pray for the 
King," and " that he may get children," 6cc. it is evi- 
dently posterior to the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and 
can scarce be older than the reign of King Charles 1 ; 
for King James I had no issue after his accession to 
the throne of England. It may even have been 
written since the Restoration, and only express the 
wishes of the nation for issue on the marriage of 
their favourite King Charles II, on his marriage 
with the Infanta of Portugal. I think it is not found 
in the Pepys collection. 

(F f) " Historical Song, or Ballad."] The English 
word Ballad is evidently from the French Balnde, as 
the latter is from the Italian Ballata ; which the 
Crusca Dictionary defines, Canzone, che si canta Bal- 
Lando, " A Song, which is sung during a Dance." 
So Dr. Burney, [ii. 342J who refers to a collection 
of Ballelte published by Gastaldi and printed at 
Antwerp in 1596. [iii. 226.J 

But the word appears to have had an earlier 
origin : for in the decline of the Roman Empire 
these trivial songs were called Ballistea and Salta- 
HuncultB, Bullisteum, Salmasius says, is properly 
Ballistium. Gr. HaWigtiov. " cnrb rS BaWiTw 
.... BaXXigia Saltatio. . . . Ballistium igitur est quod 
vulgo vocamus Ballet ; nam indededucta vox nostra.' 
Salmas. Not. in Hist. Aug. Scriptores VI. p. 3-J9. 

In the Life of the Emperor Aurelian by Fl. Vopis- 
cus may be seen two of these Ballistea, as sung by 
the boys skipping and dancing, on account of a great 
slaughter made by the Emperor with his own hand 
in the Sarmatic War. The first is, 

11 Mille, mille, mille decollavimus, 
Unus homo mille decollavimus, 
Mille vivat, qui mille occidit. 
Tantum vini habet nemo 
Quantum fudit sanguinis." 



• Of the twenty four songs in what is now railed " Robin 
Howl's (Jailand," many are BO modern as not to be found in 
Pepys' collection completed only in 1700. In the folio MS. 

(described in p. xiii.) are ancient fragments of the following, 

viz. Robin Hood and the Beggar. — Robin Hood and the i 
Botcher.- Robin Hood and Fryer Tncke.- Robin Hood and 
the Pindar. — Robin Hood and Queen Catharine, in two 

Iiarts. — Little John and the four Beggars, and " Robine 
[oode his death." This last, which is very curious, has no 
resemblance to any that have been published; and the others 
are extremely different from the printed copies; but they 

unfortunately are in the beginning of the MS. where half of 

every leaf hath been torn away. 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



The other was 

"Mille Sarmatas, mille Francos 
Semel et semel occidimus. 
Mille Persas quaerimus.'* 

Salmasius (in loc.) shows that the trivial Poets of 
that time were wont to form their metre of Trochaic 
Tetrametre Catalectics, divided into Distichs. [Ibid 
p. 350.] This becoming the Metre of the Hymns in 
the Church Service, to which the Monks at length 
superadded riming terminations, was the origin of 
the common Trochaic Metre in the modern languages. 
This observation I owe to the learned author of Irish 
Antiquities, 4to. 

(Ff 2) "Little Miscellanies named Garlands," 
&c] In the Pepysian and other libraries are pre- 
served a great number of these in black letter, 12mo. 
under the following quaint and affected titles, viz. 

1. A Crowne Garland ofGoulden Roses gathered 
out of England's Royal Garden, &c. by Richard 
Johnson, 1612. [In the Bodleian Library.] 2. The 
Golden Garland of Princely Delight. 3. The Gar- 
land of Good-will, by T. D. 1631. 4. The Royal 
Garland of Love and Delight, by T. D. 5. The 
Garland of Delight, &c. by Tho. Delone. 6. The 
Garland of Love and Mirth, by Thomas Lanfier. 

7. Cupid's Garland set round with Guilded Roses. 

8. The Garland of Withered Roses, by Martin Par- 
ker, 1656. 9. The Shepherd's Garland of Love, 
Loyalty, &c. 10. The Country Garland. 11. The 
Golden Garland of Mirth and Merriment. 12. The 
Lover's Garland. 13. Neptune's fair Garland. 14. 
England's fair Garland. 15. Robin Hood's Garland. 
16. The Maiden's Garland. 17. A Loyal Garland 
of Mirth and Pastime. 18. A Royal Garland of New 
Songs. 19. The Jovial Garland, 8th Edit. 1691. 
&c. &c. &c. 

This sort of petty publications had anciently the 
name of " Penny-Merriments :" as little religious 
tracts of the same size were called tl Penny Godli- 
nesses." In the Pepysian Library, are multitudes 
of both kinds. 

(G g) " The term Minstrel was not confined to a 
mere Musician in this country any more than on the 
Continent."] The discussion of the question, Whe- 
ther the term Minstrel was applied in England to 
Singers and Composers of Songs, &c. or confined to 
the performers on musical instruments, was properly 
reserved for this place, because much light hath 
already been thrown upon the subject in the pre- 
ceding Notes, to which it will be sufficient to refer 
the Reader. 

That on the Continent the Minstrel was understood 
not to be a mere Musician, but a Singer of Verses, 
hath been shown in Notes (B) (C) (R) (A a) &c* 
And that he was also a maker of them is evident 
from the passage in (C) p. xxiv. where the most noted 
Romances are said to be of the composition of these 
men. And in (B b) p. xxxvi. we have the Titles of 

* That the French Minstrel was a singer and composer, 
&c. appears from many passages translated by M. Le Grand, 
in " Fabliaux ou Contes," &c. see torn. i. p. 37, 47.— ii. 306, 
313 et seqq.— iii. 266, &c. Yet this writer, like other French 
critics, endeavours to reduce to distinct and separate classes 
the men of this profession, under the precise names of 
Fablier, Conteur, Menetrier, Menestrel, and Jongleur 
(torn. i. pref. p. xcviii.), whereas his own Tales confute all 
these nice distinctions, or prove at least that the title of 
Menetrier or Minstrel was applied to them all. 



some of which a Minstrel was the author, who has 
himself left his name upon record. 

The old English names for one of this profession 
was Gleeman*, Jogelerf, and latterly Minstrel ; not 
to mention Harper, &c. In French he was called 
Jongleur or Jugleur, Menestrel or Menestrier%. The 
writers of the middle ages expressed the character in 
Latin by the words Jocula tor, Mimus, Histrio, Minis- 
trellas, &c. These terms, however modern critics may 
endeavour to distinguish, and apply them to different 
classes, and although they may be sometimes men- 
tioned as if they were distinct, I cannot find after a 
very strict research to have had any settled appro- 
priate difference, but they appear to have been used 
indiscriminately by the oldest writers, especially 
in England ; where the most general and com- 
prehensive name was latterly Minstrel, Lat. Minis- 
trellas, &c. 

Thus Joculator (Eng. Jogeler, or Juglar) is used 
as synonymous to Citharista Note (K. p. xxviii.) and 
to Cantor (p. xxix.) and to Minstrel (vid. infra p. 
xl.) We have also positive proof that the sub- 
jects of his songs were Gestes and Romantic Tales. 
(V 2) note. 

So Mimus is used as synonymous to Joculator, (M) 
p. xxix. He was rewarded for his singing, (N) p. 
xxx. and he both sang, harped, and dealt in that 
sport (T 2) which is elsewhere called Ars Joculatoria, 
(M) ubi supra. 

Again Histrio is also proved to have been a singer, 
(Z) p. xxxiv. and to have gained rewards by his Verba 
Joculatoria, (E) p. xxiv. And Histriones is the term 
by which the French word Ministraulx is most fre- 
quently rendered into Latin, (W) p. xxxiii. (B b) 
p. xxxvi. &c. 

The fact therefore is sufficiently established that 
this order of men were in England, as well as on the 
Continent, Singers ; so that it only becomes a dis- 
pute about words, whether here, under the more 
general name of Minstrels, they are described as I 
having sung. 

But in proof of this we have only to turn to so 
common a book as T. War ton's History of English | 
Poetry j where we shall find extracted from Records 
the following instances. 

Ex Registr. Priorat. S. Swithin Winton. (sub anno 
1374.) *' In festo Alwyni Epi .... Et durante pie- 
tancia in Aula Conventus sex Ministralli, cum qua- 
tuor Citharisatoribus, faciebant Ministralcias suas. 
Etpost cenam,in magna camera arcuata Dom. Prioris 
cantabant idem Gestem in qua Camera suspendebatur, 
ut moris est, magnum dorsale Prioris habens pictu- 
ras trium Regum Colein. Veniebant autem dicti 
Joculatores a Castello Domini Regis et ex familia 
Epi." (vol. ii. p. 174.) Here the Minstrels and Harp- 
era are expressly called Joculatores; and as the 
Harpers had Musical Instruments, the Singing must 
have been by the Minstrels, or by both conjointly. 

For that Minstrels sang we have undeniable proof 
in the following entry in the Accompt Roll of the 
Priory of Bicester, in Oxfordshire (under the year 
1432). " Dat Sex Ministrallis de Bokyngham can- 
tantibus in refectorio Martyrium Septem Dormien- 
tium in Fasto Epiphanie, iv. s." (Vol. ii. p. 175.) 

In like manner our old English writers abound 
with passages wherein the Minstrel is represented 
as singing. To mention only a few : 

* See page xxvii. t See page xxxiii. 

X See page xxxiii. Note. 



NOTES OX THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



In the old Romance of Enwrt (Series the third, 

No. 15. p. 194) which from the obsoleteness of the 

the nakedness of the story, the barrenness of 

incidents, and some other particulars, 1 should 

judge to be next in point of time to llomcltild, we 
have 

— " I have herd Menstrelles syne: yn sawe." 
Stanza 27. 
In a poem of Adam Davie (who flourished about 
i'312) we have this Distich, 

" Merrv it is in halle to here the harpe, 
'1 he Minstrelles synge, the Jogelours carpe/' 
T. Warton, i. p. 225. 
So William of Nassyngton (circ. 1480) as quoted 
by -Air. Tyrwhitt, (Chaucer, iv. 319.) 

— " I will make no vain carpinge 
Of dedes of armys ne of amours 
As dus Minstrelles and Jestours [Gestours] 
That makys carpinge in many a place 
Of Octaviane and lsembrase, 
And of many other Jestes [Gestes] 
And namely whan they come to festes*. 

See also the Description of the Minstrel in note 
(E e) from Morte Arthur, which appears to have been 
compiled about the time of this last writer. (See T. 
Warton, ii. 235.) 

By proving that Minstrels were Singers of the old 
Romantic Songs and Gestes, &c. we have in effect 
proved them to have been the makers at least of some 
af them. For the names of their Authors being not 
preserved, to whom can we so probably ascribe the 
composition of many of these old popular rhymes, as 
to the men who devoted all their time and talents to 
the recitation of them, especially as in the rhymes 
themselves Minstrels are often represented as the 
makers or composers '? 

Thus iu the oldest of all, Horn-Child, having as- 
sumed the character of a Harper or Jogeler, is in 
consequence said (fo. 92.) to have 

"made Rymenild [his mistress] a lay." 

In the old Romance of Emart , we have this exhor- 
tation to Minstrels, as composers, otherwise they 
could not have been at liberty to choose their sub- 
jects, (st. 2.) 

" Menstrelles that walken fer and wyde 
Her and ther in every a syde 

In mony a dyverse londe 
Sholde ut her bygynnyng 
Speke of that rightvves kyng 

That made both see and londe." &c. 
And in the old Song or Geste of Guy and Col- 
bronde (Series the third, No.4. p. 193.) the Minstrel 
thus Bpeakfl of himself in the first person : 

" When ineate and drinke is great plentye 
Then lords and ladyes still wil be 

And sitt and solace lythe 
Then itt is time lor mee to speake 
Of keene knights and Icempes great 

Booh oarping fox to kythe." 

\\ «• have seen already that the Welsh lhinls, who 

nrere undoubtedly composers of the songs they 



• Tin: Ibndaew <>i the RnglUh (even tin- moal Illiterate) to 

in .ii til. - i ii< i i mi. -, i- inn. ii dw< ii ..ii t'\ Rob. df Branne, 

in 1880. (Warton, 1. p. 40, 68, 75.) Au *> were then 

nog n« the barp ! even Trollni ami CreMelde, though almost 
i long ai Hi.- ijiri.i, w.i> to be " iid. ic. . . ,oj else conge." 

I. nit. <u arton i. :i*>o 



chanted to the Harp, could not be distinguished by 
our legislators from our own Rimers, Minstrels. Vid. 
(B b 3) p. xliii.) 

And that the Provencal Troubadour of our King 
Richard, who is called by M. Favine Jongleur, and 
by M. Fauchet Menestrel, is by the old English 
Translator termed a Rimer or Minstrel when he is 
mentioning the fact of his composing some verses, 
(p. xxxiii.) 

And lastly, that Holinshed, translating the prohi- 
bition of King Henry V. forbidding any songs to be 
composed on his Victory, or to be sung by Harpers 
or others, roundly gives it, he would not permit 
" any ditties to be made and sung by Minstrels 
on his glorious Victory," &cc. Vid. p. xliv. and 
note (B b 4). 

Now that this order of men, at first called Gleemen, 
then Juglers, and afterwards more generally Minstrels, 
existed here from the Conquest, who entertained their 
hearers with chanting to the harp or other instruments, 
songs and tales of chivalry, or as they were called 
Gests* and Romances in verse in the English Lan- 
guage, is proved by the existence of the very com- 
positions they so chanted, which are still preserved 
in great abundance ; and exhibit a regular series 
from the time our language was almost Saxon, till 
after its improvements in the age of Chaucer, who 
enumerates many of them. And as the Norman 
French was in the time of this Bard still the courtly 
language, it shows that the English was not thereby 
excluded from affording entertainment to our no- 
bility, who are so often addressed therein by the 
title of Lordings : and sometimes more positively 
" Lords and Ladies." 

And though many of these were translated from 
the French, others are evidently of English originf, 
which appear in their turns to have afforded versions 
into that language ; a sufficient proof of that inter- 
community between the French and English Min- 
strels, which hath been mentioned in. a preceding 
page. Even the abundance of such translations 
into English, being all adapted for popular recitation, 
sufficiently establishes the fact, that the English 
Minstrels had a great demand for such compositions, 
which they were glad to supply whether from their 
own native stores, or from other languages. 

We have seen above that the Joculator, Mimus, 
Histrio, whether these characters were the same, or 
had any real difference, were all called Minstrels ; 
as was also the Harper}, when the term implied a 
singer, if not a composer, of songs, &c. By degrees 
the name of Minstrel was extended to vocal and in- 
strumental musicians of every kind : and as in the 
establishment of royal and noble houses, the latter 
would necessarily be most numerous, so we are not 
to wonder that the band of music (entered under the 



♦Ccsts at length came to signify adventures or incidents 
in general- So in a narrative of the journey into Scotland, 

of Queen Margaret and her attendants, on her marriage with 
King Janus IV. in 1808 [in Appendix to Leland. Collect. 
iv. p. 388,] we are promised an account *' of their Gestys 
and manners during the said \oyage." 

| The romance of " Richard UOSUr de Lion," (No. 25,) I 
should Judge t" he of EngUab Origin from the names H ar- 
drewe and Eldrede, &c. vol. iii. p. 194, 1U5. As is also Eyer 
and Grime (No. 17), wherein a knight is named Sir Gray 
Steel, and a lad\ who excels in surgery is called Loospaine 
or Lot* paint these surely are not derived from France. 

; Bee the romance of "Sir Iscnbras" (vol. iii. No. 14, 

p. ll)>) sign. a. 

Harpers loved him in Hall 
With other Mvnstrels all. 



NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 



xli 



general name of Minstrels) should consist of instru- 
mental performers chiefly, if not altogether : for, as 
the composer or singer of heroic tales to the harp 
would necessarily be a solitary performer, we must 
not expect to find him in the band along with the 
trumpeters, fluters, &c. 

However, as we sometimes find mention of " Min- 
strels of Music* :" so at other times we hear of 
" expert Minstrels and Musicians of Tongue and 
Cunning," (B b 3) p. xxxviif, meaning doubtless by 
the former, singers, and probably by the latter 
phrase, composers, of songs. Even " Minstrels 
Music" seems to be applied to the species of verse 
used by Minstrels in the passage quoted below|. 

But although, from the predominancy of instru- 
mental Music, Minstralsy was at length chiefly to 
be understood in this sense, yet it was still applied 

* T. Warton, ii. 258, note (a) from Leland's Collect, (vol. 
iv. Append, edit. 1774, p. 267.) 

t The curious author of the " Tour in Wales, 1773," 4to. 
p. 435, I find to have read these words " in toune and 
contrey ;" which I can scarce imagine to have been appli- 
cable to Wales at that time. Nor can I agree with him in 
the representation he has given (p. 367,) concerning the 
Cymmorth or meeting, wherein the Bards exerted their 
powers to excite their countrymen to war ; as if it were by 
a deduction of the particulars he enumerates, and as ft 
should seem in the way of harangue, &c. After which," the 

band of Minstrels struck up ; the harp, the crwth, and 

the pipe filled the measures of enthusiasm, which the others 
had begun to inspire." Whereas it is well known, that the 
Bard chanted his enthusiastic effusions to the harp ; and as 
for the term Minstrel, it was not, I conceive, at all used by 
the Welsh ; and in English it comprehended both the bard 
and the musician. 

J "Your ordinarie rimers use very much their measures 
in the odde, as nine and eleven, and the sharpe accent upon 
the last sillable, which therefore makes him go ill favouredly 
and like a Minstrels musicke." (Puttenham's Arte of Eng. 
Poesie, 1589, p. 59). This must mean his vocal music, 
otherwise it appears not applicable to the subject. 



to the Poetry of Minstrels so late as the time of 
Queen Elizabeth, as appears in the following extract 
from Puttenham's " Arte of Eng. Poesie," p. 9, 
who, speaking of the first composers of Latin verses 
in ryme, says, " all that they wrote to the favor or 
prayse of Princes, they did it in such manner of 
Minstralsie ; and thought themselves no small fooles, 
when they could make their verses go all in ryme." 
I shall conclude this subject with the following 
description of Minstrelcy given by John Lidgate at 
the beginning of the 15th century, as it shows what 
a variety of entertainments were then comprehended 
under this term, together with every kind of instru- 
mental Music then in use : 

— " Al maner Mynstralcye, 
That any man kan specifye. 
Ffor there were Rotys of Almayne, 
And eke of Arragon, and Spayne : 
Songes, Stampes, and eke TJaunces ; 
Divers plente of plesaunces : 
And many unkouth notys new 
Of swiche folke as lovid treue *. 
And instrumentys that did excelle, 
Many moo than I kan telle. 
Harpy s, Fythales, and eke Rotys 
Well according to her [i. e. their] notys, 
Lutys, Ribibles, and Geternes, 
More for estatys, than tavernes : 
Orgay [n] s, Cytolis, Monacordys. — 
There were Trumpes, and Trumpettes, 
Lowde Shall [m] ys, and Doucettes." 

T. Warton, ii. 225, note (*). 

* By this phrase I understand, New Tales or Narrative 
Ryines composed by the Minstrels on the subject of true 
and faithful Lovers, &c. 



THE END OF THE ESSAY. 



%* The foregoing Essay on the Ancient Minstrels has been very much enlarged and improved since the 
first edition, with respect to the Anglo-Saxon Minstrels, in consequence of some objections proposed by 
the reverend and learned Mr. Pegge* which the reader may find in the second volume of the Archasologia, 
printed by the Antiquarian Society ; but which that gentleman has since retracted in the most liberal and 
candid manner in the third volume of the Archaeologia, No. xxxiv. p. 310. 

And in consequence of similar objections respecting the English Minstrels after the Conquest, the sub- 
sequent part hath been much enlarged, and additional light thrown upon the subject ; which, to prevent 
cavil, hath been extended to Minstrelsy in all its branches, as it was established in England, whether by 
natives or foreigners. 



RELIQUES 



ANCIENT POETEY, &c. 

■•I never heard the old song of Percie and Douglas, that I found not my heart moved more than with a 
trumpet ; and yet ' it' is sung but by some blinde crowder, with no rougher voice, than rude style : which 
beeing so evill apparelled in the dust cobweb of that uncivill age, what would it work, trimmed in the gor- 
geous eloquence of Pindare !" 

Sir Philip Sydney's Defence of Poetry. 



SERIES THE FIRST. 
BOOK T. 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CIIEVY-CIIASE. 



The fine heroic song of Chevy- Chase has ever j 
been admired hy competent judges. Those genuine j 
strokes of nature and artless passion, which have I 
endeared it to the most simple readers, have recom- 
mended it to the most refined ; and it has equally 
been the amusement of our childhood, and the 
favorite of our riper years. 

Mr. Addison has given an excellent critique* on 
this very popular ballad, but is mistaken with regard 
to the antiquity of the common-received copy ; for 
this, if one may judge from the style, cannot be older 
than the time of Elizabeth, and was probably written 
after the eulogium of Sir Philip .Sydney : perhaps in 
consequence of it. I flatter myself, I have here 
recovered the genuine antique poem ; the true origi- 
nal song, which appeared rude even in the time of j 
Sir Philip, and caused him to lament that it was so I 
evil apparelled in the rugged garb of antiquity. 

This curiosity is printed, from an old manuscript, 
at the end of Hearne's preface to Gul. Newbrigien- 
sis Hist, 1719, 8vo. vol i. To the MS. copy is sub- 
joined the name of the author, Rychard Shealef ; 
whom Hearne had so little judgement as to suppose 
to be the same with a R. Sheale, who was living in 
1588. But whoever examines the gradation of lan- 
guage and idiom in the folowing volumes, will be 
convinced that this is the production of an earlier 
poet. It is indeed expressly mentioned among some 
very ancient songs in an old book intituled, The 
Complaint of Scotland^, (fol. 42), under the title of 

* Spectator, No. 70, 74. 

+ Subscribed, after the usual manner of our old poets, 
kxpmceth [explicit] quoth Rychard Sheaxs. 

j One of the earliest productions of the Scottish press, now 
to be found. The title page was wanting in the cop> here 
quoted; but it is supposed to have been printed in 1540. 
Jsee Ames. 



the Huntis of Chevet, where the two following lines 
are also quoted : 

The Perssee and the Mongumrye mette*, 
That day, that day, that gentil day f : 

which, though not quite the same as they stand in 
the ballad, yet differ not more than might be owing 
to the author's quoting from memory. Indeed, who- 
ever considers the style and orthography of this old 
poem will not be inclined to place it lower than the 
time of Henry VI. : as on the other hand the mention 
of James the Scottish King,:}:, with one or two ana- 
chronisms, forbids us to assign it an earlier date. 
King James I, who was prisoner in this kingdom at 
the death of his father§, did not wear the crown of 
Scotland till the second year of our Henry VI.||, 
but before the end of that long reign a third James 
had mounted the throne^". A succession of two 
or three Jameses, and the long detention of one of 
them in England, would render the name familiar to 
the English, and dispose a poet in those rude times 
to give it to any Scottish king he happened to men- 
ton. 

So much for the date of this old ballad: with 
regard to its subject, although it has no countenance 
from history, there is room to think it had originally 
some foundation in fact. It was one of the Laws of 
the Marches frequently renewed between the two 
nations, that neither party should hunt in the other's 
borders, without leave from the proprietors or theii 



* See Pt. 2.v. 25. J See Pt. I. v; 104. f Pt. 2. v36, 140. 

§ Who died Aug. 5, 1406, in the 7th. year of our Hen. IV. 

|| James I. was crowned May 22, 1424; murdered Feb. 21- 
1406-7. 

IT In 1430.— Hen. VI. was deposed 1461: restored and 
slain, 1471. 



Mil \\< ii \ I BALI \n Of CHE1 Y CHA8E. 



■ ivalship 1" ' 

iglss, 

M-.irr.l. IUU-- 

• naDaofMnd itmgslMfersi^M- 

mains, 
and ■] ur ; " hich 

8 
. rise to tlir 
anrtt-t Cheviatf. Percy 

: tu bunt for three 

tish border, without condescending 

either lord 

the marches. Douglas 

the insult, and endeavour to 

rej*»l the lii'ru.;. lid naturally 

the two parties ; 
aomeUniit; of which, it is probable, did really happen, 

• il with tlie tragical circumsl 
dlad : tor these are evidently bor- 

rowe»: ittle of Otterbourn^, a rery different 

. but which aftertiines would iasilv confound 

ttle might be owing to some such 

CI .<\ \ -( lhase, though it 
• of historians. Our poet has 
Dtly jumbled the two subject ar: if 

. in which this mistake i-> made, are 
not rather spurious, and the after-insertion of some 
person, who did not distinguish between the two 
-• ■ .■ -. 

vd this ballad without any division 
e/stSXaaa, in h:<; lines, as he found it in the old 
DSnal to find the distinction 
ted in ancient MSS ; w here, t 

re frequently giren in 

.-nun instances in the 

' .. 61. 70, et 



Till : 

ubarlande, 
mayd he, 

the mount:: 

thre, 

5 

nry them aw 

iyn, 

It) 

hold ; 



\ II 









•iiUlin, 
hUrum, 






I' | 






This begane on a Monday at morn 15 

In Cbeviat the billys so he ; 

The ch\ld may rue that ys un-born, 
It was the inor | 

The drvvars tl o -ov. e the woodes went 

For to r. as the deer ; 20 

Borneo bickarte uppone the bent 
\\ nh ther browd aras cleare. 

Then the wvld thOTOwe the woodes went 
On everv svde .shear : 

aomdee thorowe the greves glent 25 

For to kyll thear dear. 

The begane in Chyviat the hyls above 
Yerly on a monnyu day ; 

Be that it drewe to the oware off none 

A hondrith fat hartes ded ther lay. 30 

The blewe a mort uppone the bent, 

The semblyd on sydis shear ; 
To the quyrry then the Perse went 

To se the bryttlynge off the deare. 

<!, It was the Duglas promys 35 

This day to meet me hear ; 
But I wystfi he wold faylle verament : 
. it oth the Perse swear. 

At the laste a squyar of Xorthombelonde 

Lokyde at his hand full nv, 40 

lie was war ath the doughetie Doglas comvnge : 
With him a mighte meany, 

Both with spear, ' byll,' and brancle : 
Yt was a myghti sight to se, 

Hardyar men both off hart nar hando 45 

Were not in C'hristiante. 

The wear twenty hondrith spear-men good 

Withouten any fayle ; 
The wear home a-long be the watter a Twyde, 

5Tth bowndes of Tividale. 50 

on* the brj tlyng of the dear, he sayde, 
And to your bowys look \e ta\k good heed j 
For nevex sitheye w ear on yourmothars borne 
Had ye iu\ er bo miokle need. 

'I be dougheti Dogglas on a stede 55 

I le rode atl his men belorne ; 

i ryde as dyd a glede ; 

A holder Dame was nn BZ horn. 

Tell me ' what' men ye ar, he says, 

Or w boa men that ye be : 60 

\\ ho gave youe leare to hunts in this 
Chj \ nit chaya in the apyt of me l 



\ L9,throrowe,P.C V. Sl.blwea mot, PC. V. 42, myghtte, 

1 ' lly, PC. \ . »,withowte....feale, 

PC. \ PC. V. 64, ii. id. PC. \ . 59.whos. l'C. 

"assort fare" is probably mean! three dis- 

trlcli in Northumberland, which .still u«. l>v the name of 

eWrat, -iii.i tre ..il iii the neighbourhood of Cheviot. These 

• the ' dUtrlcl bo named from Holy- 

N • ' th ire, so i idled from the town and castle 

i. .i". : and BamborougkahAre, the ward 

"i iniii.il.. i belonging to Bamborough-caitle and town. 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE. 



The first mane that ever him an answear mayd, 

Yt was the good lord Perse : 
We wyll not tell the * what' men we ar,he says, 65 

Nor whos men that we be ; 
But we wyll hount hear in this chays 

In the spyte of thyne, and of the. 

The fattiste hartes in all Chyviat 

We have kyld, and cast to carry them a- way. 70 
Be my troth, sayd the doughte Dogglas agayn, 

Ther-for the ton of us shall de this day. 



Then sayd the doughte Doglas 

Unto the lord Perse : 
To kyll all thes giltless men, 

A-las ! it wear great pitte 

But, Perse, thowe art a lord of lande, 
I am a yerle callyd within my contre 

Let all our men uppone a parti stande ; 
And do the battell off the and of me. 



75 



80 



Now Cristes cors on his crowne, sayd the lord Pers.e, 

Who-soever ther-to says nay. 
Be my troth, doughte Doglas, he says, 

Thow shalt never se that day ; 

Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar France, 85 

Nor for no man of a woman born, 
But and fortune be my chance, 

I dar met him on man for on. 

Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde, 
Piic. Wytharynton* was himnam ; 90 

It shall never be told in Sothe-Ynglonde, he says, 
To kyng Herry the fourth for sham, 

I wat youe byn great lordes twaw, 

I am a poor squyar of lande ; 
I will never se my captayne fyght on a fylde, 95 

And stande my-selffe, and looke on, 
But whyll I may my weppone welde, 

I wyll not ' fayl' both harte and hande. 

That dav, that day, that dredfull day : 

The first fitf here I fynde. 100 

And youe wyll here any mor athe hountyng athe 
Yet ys ther mor behynde. [Chyviat, 

THE SECOND TIT. 

The Yngglishe men hade ther bowys yebent, 

Ther hartes were good yenoughe ; 
The first of arros that the shote off, 

Seven skore spear-men the sloughe. 

Yet bydys the yerle Doglas uppon the bent, 5 

A captayne good yenoughe, 
And that was sene verament, 

For he wrought horn both woo and wouche. 



V. 65, whoys, PC. V. 71, agay, PC. V. 81, sayd the 
the. PC. V. 88, on, i. e. one. V. 3, first, i. e. flight. V. 
5, byddys, PC. 

_* This is probably corrupted in the MS. for Rog Wid- 
drmgton, who was at the head of the family in the reign of 
K. Edw. III. There were several successively of the 
names of Roger and Ralph, but none of the name of Richard, 
as appears from the genealogies in the Heralds office. 
+ Fit, vid. Gloss. 



The Dogglas pertyd his ost in thre, 

Lyk a cheffe cheften off pryde, 10 

With suar speares off myghtte tre 

The cum in on every syde. 

Thrughe our Yngglishe archery 

Gave many a wounde full wyde ; 
Many a dough ete the garde to dy, 15 

Which ganyde them no pryde. 

The Yngglyshe men let thear bowys be, 
And pulde owt brandes that wer bright ; 

It was a hevy syght to se 

Bryght swordes on basnites lyght. 20 

Thorowe ryche male, and myne-ye-ple 
Many sterne the stroke downe streight : 

Many a freyke, that was full free, 
That undar foot dyd lyght. 

At last the Duglas and the Perse met, 25 

Lyk to captayns of myght and mayne ; 

The swapte togethar tyll the both swat 
With swordes, that wear of fyn myllan. 

Thes worthe freckys for to fyght 

Ther-to the wear full fayne, 30 

Tyll the bloode owte off their basnetes sprente, 

As ever dyd heal or rayne. 

Holde the, Perse, sayd the Doglas, 

And i' feth I shall the brynge 
Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis 35 

Of Jamy our Scottish kynge. 

Thoue shalte have thy ransom fre, 

I bight the hear this thinge, 
For the manfullyste man yet art thowe, 

That ever I conqueryd in filde fightyng. 40 

Nay ' then' sayd the lord Perse, 

I tolde it the beforne, 
That I wolde never yeldyde be 

To no man of a woman born. 

With that ther cam an arrowe hastely 45 

Forthe off a mightie wane*, 
Hit hathe strekene the yerle Duglas 

In at the brest bane. 

Thoroue lyvar and longs bathe 

The sharp arrowe ys gane, 50 

That ne^er after in all his lyffe days, 

He spayke mo wordes but ane, 
That was f, Fyghte ye, my merry men, whyllys ye 
may, 

For my lyff days ben gan. 

The Perse leanyde on his brande, 55 

And sawe the Duglas de ; 
He tooke the dede man be the hande, 

And sayd, Wo ys me for the ! 



V. 17, boys, P. C. V. 18, briggt, PC. V. 21, thorowe, 
PC. V. 22, done, PC. V. 26, to, i. e. two. Ibid, and of, 
PC. V. 32, ran, PC. V. 33, helde, PC. V. 49, thorowe, 
PC. 

* Wane, i. e. ane, one, sc. man, an arrow came from a 
mighty one : from a mighty man. 
t This seems to have been a Gloss added. 



THE W M \ I I'M I M) OF CHEVY CHASE. 



Tob^' tydwith 

60 
aide 

mtre\ 



5 

ntrr.n-bvrrv. 
h was dyghl ; 
II.. i trusti tre : 

ery : 
atyde, nar never I 

id lord Pei • 

• 
I tte th.it ma roll - 

of a myghte tre 
thorow tin- body he the Perse bore, 

thai a man mvght ae, 
th yard and mare : 
Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Christiante, 
B tli.it day Nam wear ther. 

: Northomberlonde 

- tli.- l-.rd i ' 

>w in bis hande, 
la off tru^ti tre : 

An u loth yarde was lang, 

baylde he ; 

i Bad and sore, 

J I.- ati on Mr Hewe the Mongon-byrry. 

both sad and Bar, 
jon-byrry » 
■ fethara, thai bia arrowe bar, 

tfa his hurt blood thfl wear wide*. 

i Greake wone foot wolde He, 

dyd >tund. 

be other, whyll the myght dre, 
manj a bal-fbJ brands. 

Chyviat 
betor the none, 

it half dune. 
Bthar hand 

111 oflf the mone ; 

■ inde, 
ibonn. 

i and tlire ; 

itlondc 

■•hin : 

ind <>n hie ■ 

If * 



65 



75 



60 



85 



90 



95 



I!). I 



1 1 I 



■ din rbonm ; 

I' 



Thear was slayne with the lord Perse 

Sir John of Agerstone, 
Sir Roge the hinde Hartly, 

Sir Wyllyam the bolde' Hearone. 

Sir Jorg the worthe Lovele 115 

A knvght of great renowen, 
Sir Raff the rych Rugbe 

\Yith,dvntes wear beaten dowene. 

For Wetharryngton my harte was wo, 

Tliat ever he slayne shulde be ; 120 

For when both liis leggis wear hewyne in to, 
Yet he knyled and fought on hys kne. 

Ther was slavne with the dougheti Douglas 

Sir Hewe the I\Iongon-b)Try, 
Sir Davye Lwdale, that worthe was, 125 

His sistars son was he : 

Sir Charles a Murre, in that place, 

That never a foot wolde fle ; 
Sir Hewe Maxwell, a lorde he was, 

With the Duglas dyd he dey. 130 

So on the morrowe the mayde them byears 

Off byrch, and hasell so ' gray' ; 
Many wedous with wepyng tears* 

Cam to fach ther makys a-way. 

Tivvdale may carpe off care, 135 

Northcmbarlond may mayk grat mone, 

For towe such captayns, as slavne wear thear, 
On the march perti shall never be none. 

Word ys commen to Edden burrowe, 

To Jamy the Skottishe kyng, 140 

That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the Merches, 

He lay slean Chyviot with-in. 

His handdes did he weal and wryng, 

He sayd, Alas, and woe ys me ! 
Such another captayn Skotland within, 145 

He sayd, y-feth shud never be. 

Worde vs comnmi to lovlv Londone 

Till the fourth Harry our kyng. 
That lord Perse, levtV-tennante of the Merchis, 

lie lay slavne Chvviat within. 150 

God have merci on his soil, sayd kyng Harry, 

Good lord, yf thy will it be ! 
I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde, he sayd, 

\ a good as ever was hee : 
Rut Perse, and J brook my lvtle, 155 

Thy doth well quyte shall be. 



V. 115, [onle, PC. V. 121, In to, i. e. in two. V. 122, 
kny, PC. v. 132, gay, PC. V. 136, mon, PC. V. 138, 
Don, PC. V. in-. \. seth, l'C. V. 14(», cheyff tennante, 
PC. 

Por tin- names In this page, Bee the Remarks at the end 
of iiu' next Ballad. 

• \ common pleonasm, see the next poem, Fit 2d. v. 
158. Bo Harding, in li is Chronicle, chap. 140, fol. 148, 
describing lh< death <>r Richard I. says, 

Be throve him then unto Abbots thre 

\\ 1th greal sobbyng .... and wepyng teares. 

Bo likewise Cavendish in his Life of Cardinal Wohey, 

Chap. 18, p. 81, ItO. " \\ Inn the .duke heard this he ic- 
I'li.ii »miIi weeping leare<," &c 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 



As our noble kyng made his a-vowe, 
Lyke a noble prince of renowen, 

For the detli of the lord Perse, 

He dyd the battel of Hombyll-down : 

"Wher syx and' thritte Skottish knyghtes 

On a day wear beaten down : 
Glendale glytteryde on ther armor bryght, 

Over castill, towar, and town. 



160 



165 



This was the hontynge off the Cheviat ; 

That tear begane this spurn : 
Old men that knowen the grownde well yenoughe, 

Call it the Battell of Otterburn. 

At Otterburn began this spume 

Uppon a monnyn day : 170 

Ther was the dougghte Doglas slean, 

The Perse never went away. 

Ther was never a tym*on the march partes 

Sen the Doglas and the Perse met, 
But yt was marvele, and the redde blude ronne not, 

As the reane doys in the stret. 176 



Jhesue Christ our balys bete, 

And to the blys us brynge ! 
Thus was the hountynge of the Chevyat : 

God send us all good ending ! 180 



*** The style of this and the following ballad is 
uncommonly rugged and uncouth, owing to their 
being writ in the very coarsest and broadest northern 
dialect. 

The battle of Hombyll-down, or Humbledon, was 
fought Sept. 14, 1402 (anno 3 Hen. IV.), wherein 
the English, under the command of the E. of Nor- 
thumberland, and his son Hotspur, gained a com- 
plete victory over the Scots. The village of Hum- 
bledon is one mile north-west from Wooler, in Nor- 
thumberland. The battle was fought in the field below 
the village, near the present turnpike road, in a spot 
called ever since Red-Riggs. — Humbledon is in Glen- 
dale Ward, a district so named in this county, and 
mentioned above in ver. 163. 



II. 



THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 



The only battle, wherein an Earl of Douglas was 
slain fighting with a Percy, was that of Otterbourn, 
which is the subject of this ballad. It is here re- 
lated with the allowable partiality of an English poet, 
and much in the same manner as it is recorded in the 
English Chronicles. The Scottish writers have, 
with a partiality at least as excusable, related it no 
less in their own favour. Luckily we have a very 
circumstantial narrative of the whole affair from 
Froissart, a French historian, who appears to be un- 
biassed. Froissart' s relation is prolix ; I shall there- 
fore give it, with a few corrections, as abridged by 
Carte, who has however had recourse to other autho- 
rities, and differs from Froissart in some things, 
which I shall note in the margin. 

In the twelfth year of Richard II., 1388, " The 
Scots taking advantage of the confusions of this 
nation, and falling with a party into the West- 
marches, ravaged the country about Carlisle, and 
carried off three hundred prisoners. It was with a 
much greater force, headed by some of the principal 
nobility, that, in the beginning of August*, they 
invaded Northumberland ; and, having wasted part 
of the county of Durhamf, advanced to the gates of 
Newcastle ; where, in a skirmish, they took a ' penon' 
or colours:}: belonging to Henry Lord Percy, sur- 
named Hotspur, son to the Earl of Northumberland. 
In their retreat home, they attacked a castle near 
Otterbourn : and, in the evening of Aug. 9, (as the 
English writers say ; or rather, according to Frois- 
sart, Aug. 15,) after an unsuccessful assault, were 

* Frossart speaks of both parties (consisting in all of 
more than 40,000 men) as entering England at the same 
time ; but the greater part by way of Carlisle. 

t And, according to the ballad, that part of Northumber- 
land called Bamboroughshire ; a large tract of land so 
named from the town and castle of Bamborough, formerly the 
residence of the Northumbrian Kings. 

% This circumstance is omitted in the ballad. Hotspur and 
Douglas were two young warriors much of the same age. 



surprised in their camp, which was very strong, by 
Henry, who at the first onset put them into a good 
deal of confusion. But James, Earl of Douglas, 
rallying his men, there ensued one of the best-fought 
actions that happened in that age ; both armies 
showing the utmost bravery* ; the Earl Douglas 
himself being slain on the spotf ; the Earl of Murrey 
mortally wounded ; and Hotspur,:}: with his brother 
Ralph Percy, taken prisoners. These disasters on 
both sides have given occasion to the event of the 
engagement's being disputed ; Froissart (who derives 
his relation from a Scotch knight, two gentlemen of 
the same country, and as many of Foix)§ affirming 
that the Scots remained masters of the field : and the 
English writers insinuating the contrary. These 
last maintain that the English had the better of the 
day : but night coming on, some of the northern 
lords, coming with the Bishop of Durham to their 
assistance, killed many of them by mistake, sup- 
posing them to be Scots ; and the Earl of Dunbar, 
at the same time falling on another side upon Hot- 
spur, took him and his brother prisoners, and carried 
them off while both parties were fighting. It is at 
least certain, that immediately after this battle the 
Scots engaged in it made the best of their way home : 



* Froissart says the English exceeded the Scots in number 
three to one, but that these had the advantage of the ground, 
and were also fresh from sleep, while the English were 
greatly fatigued with their previous march. 

t By Henry L. Percy, according to this ballad, and our 
old English historians, as Stow, Speed, &c. but borne down 
by numbers, if we may believe Froissart. 

1 Hotspur (after a very sharp conflict) was taken prisoner 
by John Lord Montgomery, whose eldest son, Sir Hugh, was 
slain in the same action with an arrow, according to Craw- 
ford's Peerage (and seems also to be alluded to in the fore- 
going ballad, but taken prisoner and exchanged for Hotspur, 
according to this ballad. 

§ Froissart (according to the Eng. Translation) says he 
had his account from two squires of England, and from a 
knight and squire of Scotland, soon after the battle. 



\ i i ■ 01 01 ["ERBOl RNB. 






|bt um.- nartv was tn, 

v. hi,!. 
preju- 

.1 BC- 

ith, and he 

. ;mil repre- 
. that 
'• 1 he 
!i the 

u han they 

I here 
l .(jo* betweni' t!i. : ordes, 

lure ; but lav mi eche upon 

a ii,. s be \\<-ll beaten, and that the 

• -v. they than 

and are BO joy full, 

shall In- ransomed or thev 

of them is 

, that nt their departing* curtotjsly 

■ ■a. Hut in fyghtvnge one 

- ■ . ■ • sp . •• Q| • ■." Frois- 

. ited l>y Sir Johan Bour- 

cxlij. 

I id is i in this present edition) 

. M8. in tin- Cotton Library} 

many stanzas more 

ipy, which was transcribed 

S 

MS. this poem lias no title, but 

it is thus inscribed, " A Bonge 

of Otterburne, 

rcye, Earle of Northom- 

of Scotlande, 

Hut this title is erroneous, and 

■ mt transcriber of after-times : 

1. I i- not fought hv the Karl of 

ut, hut hv his son 

I [otapur, (in those 

': ■ trie of lord to an 

the battle was rbughl 

is evidently of Liter 

quoting the chron- 

id speaking of Percy in 

•iinia as dead. Ii was howerer written in 

■ 

inferred from the 

■ in.-.-i w ith n huh the st.-rv is related, 

» i bronicle, and were 

• inor) of , ,l,| people. It 

etwopoema 

• . hut w hull of them was 

I up. ,ii their prio- 

ider must, h-t, inline. 
ii. 1 l.\ m t,, ryde, 






....T./i1.!r"t ." l? ' '' "" > •''"•'> • «M 

'""''"'■" "■' "' 1 •'•■••. t;..... ( . «,i -ii,,, 

. |) (I,, in 

• «»•» .'m'.*- • 

- -. . i I ', ? 



The vrlle of Fvfl'e', withowghten strytf'e, $ 

He bowvnd hym over Suhvayt : 

••■ wolde ever together ryde ; 
That race they may rue for aye. 

Over 'Ottercap' hyll they* came in, 

And bo dowyn by Rodelyffecrn-_ 10 

I pon Grene ' Leyton' they lighted dowyn, 

Styrande many a stagge; 

And boldely brente Xorthomberlonde, 

And baryed many a towyn ; 
They dyd owr Ynglyssh men grete wrange, lo 

To battell that were not bowyn. 

Than spake a berne upon the bent, 

Of comforte that was not colde, 
And savd, We have brent Xorthomberlond, 

We have all welth in bolde. 20 

Now we have baryed all Bamboroweshvre, 
All the welth in the worlde have wee ; 

I rede we ryde to Newe Castell, 
So styll and stalwurtblye. 

I'ppon the morowe, when it was daye, 25 

The standards scbone fulle bryght ; 
To the Newe Castelle the toke the wave, 

And tbetber they cam fulle ryght. 

Sir Henry Percy laye at tbe Newe Castelle, 

I telle yow witbowtten drede ; 30 

lie bad byn a march-man* all hys dayes, 
And kepte Barwyke upon Twede. 

To tbe Newe Castell wben thev cam, 

The Skottes thev crvde on bygbt, 
Syr Ilarve Percy, and thow byste within, So 

Com to tbe fylde, and fygbt : 

For we have brente Xorthomberlonde, 

Thy eritage good and ryght ; 
And syne mv logeyng 1 have take, 

\\ ith my brande dubbyd many a knyght. 10 

Sir Harn Percy cam to the walles, 
The Skottyssh oste for to Be; 

"And thow hast brente \ 01 thoinberlond, 
Full sore it rewyth me. 



\ . 12 This line is corrupt in both the MSS. vis. ' Many 
i ityrande stage.' -Staga have been killed within rhe pre- 
tent century <>n some <>i' the large wastes in Northumber- 
land. \. ;t'.», syne s, tiii- here i" mean since. 

• Robert Slew. nt, second son Of Kin;: Robert IT. 

I i. ,- "over Solwaj frith." This evidently refers to the 
vision of the Scottish army, which came in by way 

"' Carlisle. Bowund, or Bounde him : i. e. hied him. 

\..i. Gloss. 

: Thej : s,-. tl,, Bar! of Douglas and his party. The 

several station: here mentioned are well known places in 

Northumberland. Ottercap-hill is in the parish of Kir k- 

\S helpinglon, ku l'\ uedale ward, riodeliffe- Cor as it is mote 

pronounced Rodelej Cragge i- a noted cliff near 

lloddry, ., .,,,. ,u village in ill, parish of Hartburn, in Mor- 

pet h ward : It lies south-east of Ottercap, and has, within 

y< ii-. been distinguished by a small tower erected 

bt Bit SValtei Blacket, Bart., which, in Armstrong's map 

lumberland, Is pompously called Rodeley-castle. 

i ■ yton i- another small village in the same parish of 

•Ii east of Rodeley. Both the original 

uptly, Hoppertop and Lynton. 
I M '"'■< man. I. e. a icowrei of the marches.' 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 



Yf thou hast haryed all Bambarowe shyre, 45 

Thow hast done me grete envye ; 
For the trespasse thow hast me done, 

The tone of us schall dye." 

Where schall I byde the 1 sayd the Dowglas, 
Or where wylte thow come to me? 50 

" At Otterborne in the hygh way*, 
Ther maist thow well logeed be. 

The roo full rekeles ther sche rinnes, 

To make the game and glee : 
The fawkon and the fesaunt both, 55 

Amonge on the holtes on ' bee.' 

Ther maist thow have thy welth at wyll, 

Well looged ther maist be. 
Yt schall not be long, or I com the tyll," 

Sayd Syr Harry Percye. 60 

< 

Ther schall I byde the, sayd the Dowglas, 

By the fayth of my bodye. 
Thether schall I com, sayd Syr Harry Percy ; 

My trowth I plyght to the. 

A pype of wyne he gave them over the walles, 65 

For soth, as I yow saye : 
Ther he mayd the Douglas drynke, 

And all hys oste that daye. 

The Dowglas turnyd hym homewarde agayne, 
For soth withowghten naye, 70 

He tooke his logeyng at Oterborne 
Uppon a Wedyns-day : 

And there he pyght hys standerd dowyn, 

Hys gettyng more and lesse, 
And syne he warned hys men to goo 75 

To chose ther geldyngs gresse. 

A Skottysshe knyght hoved upon the bent, 

A wache I dare well saye : 
So was he ware on the noble Percy 

In the dawnynge of the daye. 80 

He prycked to his pavyleon dore, 

As faste as he myght ronne, 
Awaken, Dowglas, cryed the knyght, 

For hys love, that syttes yn trone. 

Awaken, Dowglas, cryed the knyght, 85 

For thow maiste waken wyth wynne : 

Yender have I spyed the prowde Percy, 
And seven standardes wyth hym. 

Nay by my trowth, the Douglas sayed, 

It ys but a fayned taylle : 90 

He durste not loke on my bred banner, 
For all Ynglonde so haylle. 

Was I not yesterdaye at the Newe Castell, 

That stonds so fayre on Tyne 1 
For all the men the Percy hade, 95 

He cowde not garre me ones to dyne. 



V. 53, Roe-bucks were to be found upon the wastes not 

far from Hexham in the reign of Geo. I. Whitfield, 

Esq., of Whitfield, is said to have destroyed the last of them. 

V. 56, hye, MSS. V. 77, upon the best bent, MS. 

* Otterbourn is near the old Watling-street road, in the 
parish of Elsdon. The Scots were encamped in a grassy 
plain near the river Read. The place where the Scots and 
English fought is still called Battle Riggs. 



He stepped owt at hys pavelyon dore, 

To loke and it were lesse ; 
Araye yow, lordyngs, one and all, 

For here bygynnes no peysse 100 

The yerle of Mentayne*, thow arte my erne, 

The forwarde I gyve to tha : 
The yerlle of Huntlay cawte and kene, 

He schall wyth the be. 

The lorde of Bowghanf in armure bryght 105 

On the other hand he schall be ; 
Lord Jhonstone and lorde Maxwell, 

They to schall be with me. 

Swynton fayre fylde upon your pryde 

To batell make yow bowen : 1 1C 

Syr Davy Scotte, Syr Walter Stewarde, 

Syr Jhon of Agurstone. 



The Perssy came byfore hys oste, 

Wych was ever a gentyll knyght, 
Upon the Dowglas lowde can he crye, 

I wyll holde that I have hyght : 

For thow haste brente Northumberlonde, 5 

And done me grete envye ; 
For thys trespasse thou hast me done, 

The tone of us schall dye. 

The Dowglas answerde hym agayne 

With grete wurds up on ' hee,' 10 

And sayd, I have twenty agaynst ' thy' one:}: 

Byholde and thow maiste see. 

Wyth that the Percye was grevyd sore, 

For sothe as I yow saye : 
[§ He lyghted dowyn upon his fote, 15 

And schoote his horsse clene away. 

Every man sawe that he dyd soo. 

That ryall was ever in rowght ; 
Every man schoote hys horsse him froo, 

And lyght hym rowynde abowght. 20 

Thus Syr Hary Percye toke the fylde, 

For soth, as I yow saye : 
Jesu Cryste in hevyn on hyght 

Dyd helpe hym well that daye. 

But nyne thowzand, ther was no moo ; 25 

The cronykle wyll not layne : 
Forty thowsande Skottes and fowre 

That day fowght them agayne. 

But when the batell byganne to joyne, 

In hast ther came a knyght, 30 

' Then ' letters fayre furth hath he tayne. 
And thus he sayd full ryght : 

My lorde, your father he gretes yow well, 

Wyth many a noble knyght ; 
He desyres yow to byde 35 

That he may see thys fyght. 



V. 1, 13, Pearcy. al. MS. V. 4. I wiU hold to what I have 
promised. V. 10, hye, MSS. V. 11. the one. MS. 

* The Earl of Menteith. + The Lord Buchan. 

j He probably magnifies his strength to induce him to 
surrender. 

§ All that follows, included in brackets, was not in the 
1 first edition. 



1NCUSN-I KALLAD OF I III. l: \ I H.r. OF OTTERBOURNE. 



<i > 



50 



60 



I 

i', rcy, 
I in.-, 

' •' 

Skottyahkn] 

le byde hym opon thya bent, 
tyne; 

■ rude 
foughten a* 
call but a kowarde knyght 
ther daye. 

. be rynde and rente, 
.1 ,rv that mykel maye ; 
bt my manhood sonnlde be reprotyd 55 
Wyth ;i Skotte another daye. 

Imto, trohare, For my .sake, 
irowee H<-e : 
. play up for yonr waryson, 
a,1! qnyl it Bchall bo. 

•hvnke on hys trewe love, 

hym to the Trenite >, 
\ . owe 

- ! 

: I Jas armes, 
1 1\ s • tode en hye ; 

man myght full well knowe : 

•lire : 

lyah parte, 
a s:i\ne j 70 

1 nts both : 

ne*.] 

cane they crye, 

• oil hvght, 

\ ieo* r Ynglyaahe men, 75 

. 

: i-'s knyght, 
■■■■ ere full fayne, 
, they cryde on hyght, 

:. lie. BO 

' I lire, 

1 

J lie. 

■ 
1 






n Hi I) . iiibln. 

/ 
. k would i,,- 
P 

/ 

■ 



Tvll the bloode from tlier bassonnetts ranne, 

Afl the roke doth in the rnyne. 90 

Yelde the to me, sayd the Dowglas, 
Or els tliow Bchalt be slayne: 

For T see, by thy bryght bassonet, 

Thow arte sum man of myght, 
And so I do by thy burnysshed brande, 95 

Thow art an yerle, or ells a knyght*. 

By my good faythe, sayd the noble Percy, 

Now haste thou rede full ryght, 
Yet wvll I never yelde me to the, 

Whyll I may stonde and fyght. 100 

They swapped together, whyll that they swette, 

Wyth swordes scharpe and long; 
Ych on other so faste they beette, 

Tyll ther helmes cam in peyses dowyn. 

The Percy was a man of strenghth, 105 

I tell yow in thys stounde, 
He smote the Dowglas at the swordes length, 

That he felle to the growynde. 

The sworde was scharpe and sore can byte, 
I tell yow in sertayne ; 1 1C 

To the harte, he cowde hym smyte, 
Thus was the Dowglas slayne. 

The stonderds stode styll on eke syde, 

With many a grevous grone ; 
Ther the fowght the day, and all the nyght, 1 1 5 

And many a dowghty man was ' slone.' 

Ther was no freke, that ther wolde flye, 

But styffly in stowre can stond, 
Ychone hewyng on other whyll they myght drye, 

Wyth many a bayllefull bronde. 120 

Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde, 

For soth and sertenlv, 
Syr James a Dowglas ther was slayne, 

That daye that he cowde dye. 

The yerle Mentaye of he was slayne, 125 

Gryaely groned uppon the gtowynd ; 

Syr Davy Scotte, Syr Walter Steward, 
Syr ' John' of Agurstonnef. 

Syr Charlies Money in that place, 

That never a fete wold five ; 130 

Sir Hughe Maxwelle, a lord he was, 
With the Dowglas dyd he dye. 

Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde, 

For soth as I vow saye, 
Of fowre and forty tlunvsande Scotts 135 

Went Imt Byghtene awave. 

Ther was siaviio upon the Ynglysshe syde, 
■ili and sertenlye, 
'fell knyght, Sir John Fitz-hughe, 

"> t was the more jietve. 1 10 

J llfl, ilayne, MSS. V. 124, i.e. He died that day. 
V. 143, Covelle, M.S. For the names in this page see 

til.- Remarks mi the end <>r this ballad. 

!•■ ing mII in irmonr he could not know him. 

' "''I minstrel repeats these names, as Homer and 
• those of their heroea : 

'.. , , ,'"',i". 11 ."' <: >- fortemqne Cloanthum, &c. &c. 

,, I ,',',, [J. 8, ' ,- "' '"■"'»"*> James," but see above, 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 



Syr James Harebotell ther was slayne, 

For hym ther hartes were sore, 
The gentyll ' Lovelle' ther was slayne, 

That the Percyes standerd bore. 

Ther was slayne uppon the Ynglyssh perte, 145 

For soth as 1 yow saye : 
Of nyne thowsand Ynglyssh men 

Fyve hondert cam awaye : 

The other were slayne in the fylde, 

Cryste kepe their sowles from wo, 150 

Seyng- ther was so few fryndes 

Agaynst so many a foo. 

Then one the morne they mayd them beeres 

Of byrch, and hay sell graye ; 
Many a wydowe with wepyng teyres 155 

Ther makes they fette awaye. 

Thys fraye bygan at Otterborne, 

Bytwene the nyghte and the day : 
Ther the Dowglas lost hys lyfe, 

And the Percy was lede awaye*. 160 

Then was ther a Scottyshe prisoner tayne, 
Syr Hughe Mongomery was hys name, 

For soth as I yow saye, 

He borowed the Percy home agayne f. 

Now let us all for the Percy praye 165 

To Jesu most of myght, 
To bryng his sowle to the blysse of heven, 

For he was a gentyll knight. 

*3* Most of the names in the two preceding bal- 
lads, are found to have belonged to families of dis- 
tinction in the North, as may be made appear from 
authentic records. Thus in 



THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE. 

Ver. 112, Agerstone.] The family of Hagger- 
ston of Haggerston, near Berwick, has been seated 
there for many centuries, and still remains. Thomas 
Haggerston was among the commissioners returned 
for Northumberland in 12 Hen. VI., 1433. (Fuller's 
Worthies, p. 310.) The head of this family, at 
present is, Sir Thomas Haggerston, Bart, of Hag- 
gerston above mention. 

N.B. The name is spelt Agerstone, as in the text, 
in Leland's Itinerary, vol. vii. p. 54. 

Ver. 113, Hartly.] Hartley is a village near the 
sea in the barony of Tinemouth, about 7 miles from 
North Shields. It probably gave name to a family 
of note at that time. 

Ver. 114, Hearone.] This family, one of the most 
ancient, was long of great consideration, in Nor- 
thumberland. Haddeston, the Caput BaronicE of 
Heron, was their ancient residence. It descended, 
25 Edw. I. to the heir general Emiline Heron, after- 
wards Baroness Darcy. — Ford, &c. and Bockenfield 
(in. com. eoduiri) went at the same time to Roger 



V. 453, one, i. e. on. V. 165, Percyes, Hail. MS. 

* sc. Captive. 

t In the Cotton M.S. is the following note on ver. 1C4, in 
an ancient hand : 

" Syr Hewe Mongomery takyn piizonar, was delyvered 
for. the restorynge of Perssy." 



Heron, the heir male.; whose descendants were 
summoned to Parliament : Sir William Heron, of 
Ford Castle being summoned 44 Edw. III. Ford 
Castle hath descended by heirs general to the family 
of Delaval (mentioned in the next article.) — Robert 
Heron, Esq., who died at Newark, in 1753, (father 
of the Right Hon. Sir Richard Heron, Bart,) was 
heir male of the Herons of Bockenfield, a younger 
branch of this family. — Sir Thomas Heron Middle 
ton, Bart, is heir male of the Herons of Chip-Chase, 
another branch of the Herons of Ford Castle. 

Ver. 115, Lovele.] Joh. de Lavale, miles, was 
sheriff of Northumberland, 34 'Hen. VII. Joh. de 
Lavele, mil. in the 1 Edw. VI. and afterwards. 
(Fuller, 313.) In Nicholson this name is spelt Da 
Lovel, p. 304. This seems to be the ancient family 
of Delaval, of Seaton Delaval, in Northumberland, 
whose ancestor was one of the twenty-five barons 
appointed to be guardians of Magna Charta. 

Ver. 117, Rugbe.] The ancient family of Rokeby, 
in Yorkshire, seems to be here intended. In Tho- 
resby's Ducat. I eod. p. 253, fol. is a genealogy of 
this house, by which it appears that the head of the 
family, about the time when this ballad was written, 
was Sir Ralph Rokeby, Knt. Ralph being a com- 
mon name of the Rokebys. 

Ver. 119. Wetharrington.] Rog. de Widrington 
was sheriff of Northumberland in 36 of Edw. III. 
(Fuller, p. 311.) Joh.de Widrington in 11 of Hen. 
IV., and many others of the same name afterwards. 
See also Nicholson, p. 331. Of this family was the 
late Lord Witherington. 

Ver. 124, Mongon-byrry.] Sir Hugh Mont- 
gomery was son of John Lord Montgomery, the 
lineal ancestor of the present Earl of Eglinton. 

Ver. 125, Lwdale.] The ancient family of the 
Liddels were originally from Scotland, where they 
were Lords of Liddel Castle, and of the barony of 
Buff. (Vid. Collins's Peerage. The head of this 
family is the present Lord Ravensworth, of Ravens- 
worth Castle, in the county of Durham. 



IN THE BATTLE OF OTTEREOURNE. 

Ver. 101, Mentaye.] At the time of this battle, 
the Earldom of Menteith was possessed by Robert 
Stewart, Earl of Fife, third son of King Robert II., 
who, according to Buchanan, commanded the Scots 
that entered by Carlisle. But our minstrel had pro- 
bably an eye to the family of Graham, who had this 
earldom when the ballad w r as written. See Doug- 
las's Peerage of Scotland, 1764, fol. 

Ver. 103, Huntleye.] This shows this ballad was 
not composed before 1449 ; for in that year Alexan- 
der Lord of Gordon and Huntley was created Earl of 
Huntley by King James II. 

Ver. 105, Bowghan.] The Earl of Buchan at that 
time was Alexander Stewart, fourth son of King- 
Robert II. 

Ver. 107, Jhonstone — Maxwell.] These two fami- 
lies of Johnstone, Lord of Johnston, and Maxwell, 
Lord of Maxwell, were always very powerful on the 
borders. Of the former family was Johnston Mar- 
quis of Annandale : of the latter was Maxwell Earl 
of Nithfidale. I cannot find that any chief of this 
family was named Sir Hugh ; but Sir Herbert 
Maxw r ell was about this time much distinguished. 
(See Doug.) This might have been originally 
written SirH. Maxwell, and by transcribers converted 






V8 DAI GHTER. 






III.!' 



■ 

Sm l..-.,"i ■ f tlai : inuU « h> 'i tin- battle \\ us fought ; 

In ro 

it', -ii. 

I WSS 

inton 

: arl of 

it of this family 

vu - : Scut land. 

- 1 1 ■ rstoun, miles, is one of the 

•v with the 

up. Urn. 111. (Nicholson, p. 2, 



It was tlit- (ate of many parts of Northum- 
berland often to ohange their masters, according as 
- ottish or English arms prevailed. 

Morrey.] The person here meant 

irobably Sir Charles Murray of Cockpoole, 

who flourished at that time, and was ancestor of the 

"Murravs some time Earls of Annandale. See Doug. 

Peerage. 

. 139, Fitz-hughe.] Dugdale (in his Baron, 
vol. i. p. 403) informs us that John, son of Henry 
Lord Fitzhugh, was killed at the battle of Otter- 
bonrne. This was a Northumberland family. A id. 
Dugd. p. 403, col. 1, and Nicholson, pp. 33, 60. 

Vet. 141, Harebotell.] llarbottle is a village 
upon the river Coquet, about 10 miles west of Roth- 
bury. The family of llarbottle was once consider- 
able in Northumberland. (See Fuller, pp, 3t2, 
313.) A daughter of Guischard llarbottle, Esq., 
married Sir Thomas Percy, knt. son of Henry, the 
fifth, and father of Thomas, the seventh, Earls ot 
Northumberland. 



III. 



THE JEWS DAUGHTER, 



A SCOTTISH r.AI.LAP 



t* the 

e murthering Christian 

ton of then* parents : 

Ii hath been always alleged in excuse 

ipon that wretched people, 

. r happened in a single 

. icr, ..ii the <>ne hand, the 

n uf the times when such 

• . the virulent prejudices of the 

them, ami the ea i rn< ss w ith 

.-.1 up by the barbarous 

popula c e ui : for plunder; on the other 

irr. .1 hv the perpetrators, 

tli.\ could have to excite 

v' .• 1 1 1 -. i \ reason- 

. 

main i. ..i«i. 



robablv built upon some 



blance t < » the 
nlso to 
; of Lin- 
Ill. I lie conclusion 

v. hat it prolm- 

1 

A ii : the 
>• • . • ■ ' uid. 



, 



Than out and cam the Jewis dochter, 5 

Said, N\' ill ve cum in and dine ? 
" 1 winnae cum in, 1 cannae cum in, 

Without my play-feres nine." 

Scho powd an apple reid and white 

To intice the zong thing in : 10 

Scho powd an apple white and reid, 

And that the BWeit bairne did win. 

And scho has taine out a little pen-knife, 

And low down hv her gair, 
Scho has twin'd the zong thing and his life ; 1 3 

A word he nevir spak mair. 

And out and cam the thick thick bluid, 

And out and cam the thin ; 
And out and cam the bonnv herts bluid : 

Thair was nae lite left in. 20 

Scho laid him on a dressing horde, 

And drest him like a swine, 
And laughing said, Gae nou and pley 

\\ ith sour sweit playrferes nine. 

Scho rowd him in a cake of lead, 25 

Bade him lie stil and sleip. 

kSt him in a deip draw-well, 
\\ al fifty i'adom deij). 

Quhan bells wet rung, and mass was sung, 
Au.l every lady went heme: 30 

I ban ilka lady had her zong sonne, 
I id\ Helen had nam'. 

rowd bit mantil hir about. 

And aair sair gan she weip : 

be ran Into the Jewis castel, 3b 

Quhan they wer all asleip. 



SIR CAULINE. 



My bonny Sir Hew, my pretty Sir Hew, 

I pray thee to me speik. 
" lady, rinn to the deip draw-well, 

Gin ze zour Sonne wad seik." 

Lady Helen ran to the deip draw-well, 

And knelt upon her kne : 
My bonny Sir Hew, an ze be here, 

I pray thee speik to me. 



40 



" The lead is wondrous heavy, mither, 
The well is wondrous deip, 

A keen pen-knife sticks in my hert, 
A word I dounae speik. 

Gae hame, gae hame, my mither deir, 
Fetch me my windling sheet, 

And at the back o' Mirry-land toun 
Its thair we twa sail meet." 



:a> 



IV. 



SIR CAULINE. 



This old romantic tale w&s preserved in the Editor's 
folio MS. but in so very defective and mutilated a 
condition (not from any chasm in the MS. but from 
great omission in the transcript, probably copied 
from the faulty recitation of some illiterate minstrel), 
and the whole appeared so far short of the perfection 
it seemed to deserve, that the Editor was tempted to 
add several stanzas in the first part, and still more 
in the second, to connect and complete the story in 
the manner which appeared to him most interesting 
and affecting. 

There is something peculiar in the metre of this 
old ballad : it is not unusual to meet with redundant 
stanzas of six lines ; but the occasional insertion of 
a double third or fourth line, as ver. 31, &c. is an 
irregularity I do not remember to have seen else- 
where. 

It may be proper to inform the reader before he 
comes to Pt. 2, v. 110, 111, that the Round Table 
was not peculiar to the reign of K. Arthur, but was 
common in all the ages of Chivalry. The proclaim- 
ing a great tournament (probably with some peculiar 
solemnities) was called " holding a Round Table." 
Dugdale tells us that the great baron Roger de Mor- 
timer " having procured the honour of knighthood 
to be conferred ' on his thre sons' by K. Edw. L, he, 
at his own costs, caused a tourneament to be held at 
Kenilworth ; where he sumptuously entertained an 
hundred knights, and as many ladies, for three days ; 
the like whereof was never before in England ; and 
there began the Round Table, (so called by reason 
that the place wherein they practised those feats was 
environed with a strong wall made in a round form :) 
And upon the fourth day, the golden lion, in sign of 
triumph, being yielded to him ; he carried it (with 
all the company) to Warwick." — It may further be 
added, that Matthew Paris frequently calls justs and 
tournaments Hastiludia Mensce Rotunda. 

As to what will be observed in this ballad of the 
art of healing being practised by a young princess ; 
it is no more than what is usual in all the old ro- 
mances, and was conformable to real manners : it 
being a practice derived from the earliest times 
among all the Gothic and Celtic nations, for women 
even of the highest rank, to exercise the art of sur- 
gery. In the Northern Chronicles we always find 
the young damsels stanching the wounds of their 
lovers, and the wives those of their husbands* And 



* See Northern Antiquities, &c. vol. 
100. Mtmoires de la Chevalerie, torn, i 



. p. 318, vol. ii. p. 
p. 44. 



even so late as the time of Q. Elizabeth, it is men- 
tioned among the accomplishments of the ladies of 
her court, that the " eldest of them are skilful in 
surgery." See Harrison's Description of England, 
prefixed to Hollingshed's Chronicle, &c. 



THE FIRST PART. 

In Ireland, ferr over the sea, 

There dwelleth a bonnye kinge ; 

And with him a yong and comlye knighte, 
Men call him Syr Cauline. 

The kinge had a ladye to his daughter 
In fashyon she hath no peere ; 

And princely wightes that ladye wooed 
To be theyr wedded feere. 

Syr Cauline loveth her best of all. 

But nothing durst he saye ; 
Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man, 

But deerlye he lovde this may. 

Till on a daye it so beffell, 

Great dill to him was dight ; 
The maydens love removde his mynd, 

To care-bed went the knighte. 

One while he spred his armes him fro, 
One while he spred them nye : 

And aye ! but I winne that ladyes love, 
For dole now I mun dye. 

And whan our parish-masse was done, 
Our kinge was bowne to dyne : 

He sayes, Where is Syr Cauline, 
That is wont to serve the wyne ? 

Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte, 
And fast his handes gan wringe : 

Sir Cauline is sicke, and like to dye 
Without a good leechinge. 

f'etche me downe my daughter deere, 

She is a leeche fulle fine : 
Goe take him doughe, and the baken bread, 
And serve him with the wyne soe red ; 

Lothe I were him to tine. 



10 



15 



£0 






SIR CA1 LINE. 






40 



45 



50 



55 



K«ir Chrietabelle to liis chain 

,: • . 1 1 1 \ hrd » 

. man for shame, 

die, 

. 

• vcnir lore 

• all this dill Idi 

m old comfort me e itli ■ kisse, 
my father is a ki 

hi- oldve 1 • 

: 1 1 1 • 1 well rou knowe, syr knighte, 
(era. 

. thou art a Vine's daughter, 

I no not thv poe r o , 

. : armea 
) our Nwhelw re* 

•" thou wilt doe, 

Id rue, 

: happe to 1 



□ridge liill there gr o we th a tborne, 
Upon die morea brod 60 

»yr knighte, wake there all nighte* 

DBOrnfalger' 

miekla of arighte, 
\N ill • a beforne: 

i hare life :. 

JSut he did him loath and >come 

i paynim, 

f limb and ! 

70 

[lea Da walke*, 

le ; 

• tdy token, 

< >r Da ii.-\,r tu-.ri- you see. 

i lit : 

ne, 



' uw nil my I 

I m 

foil; 

I 












■ he called on Syr Cauline, 9C 

() man, 1 rede thee five, 
For 'hut' ifcryanoe comes till my heart, 
I ereene hut thou mun dye. 

He savth, r No' crvance conies till my heart, 
Nor in myth, I wyll not flee; 95 

For, cause thou minted not Christ before, 
The less me dreadeth thee. 



The Elridge knighte, he pricked his steed ; 

Syr Cauline hold abode: 
Then either shooke his trustve speare, 100 

And the timber these two children* bare 

Soe soone in sunder slode. 

Then tooke thev out theyr two good swordes, 

And layden on full faste, 
Till helme and hawberke, mail and sheelde, 105 

They all were well-nye brast. 

The Eldridge knight was mickle of might, 

And stifle in stower did stande, 
But Syr Cauline with a 'backward' stroke 

He smote off his right hand ; 1 10 

J'hat soone he with peine and lacke of bloud 

Fell downe on that lav-land. 



Then up Syr Cauline lift his brande 

All over his head so hve : 
And here I sweare by the holy roode, 

Nowe caytifte, thou Bhalt dye. 



Then up and came that ladye brighte,] 

Fast wringing of her hande : 
For the maydens love, that most you love, 

Withold that deadlye brande: 

For the maydens love, that most you love, 
Now smyte no more 1 praye ; 

And aye whatever thou wilt, my lord, 

He shall thy hests obave. 

Now sweare to mee, thou Eldridge knighte, 

And here on this lav-land, 

I hat thou a Qt believe on Christ his laye, 

And thereto plight thy hand: 

A I'd that thou never on Eldridge oome 
I o sporte, gamon, or playe: 

Am! that thou here give uj) thv annes 
I'ntil thy dying dave. 

The Eldridge knighte gave up his amies 

With many i aorrowrulle sighe ; 
And iware to obey Svr Caulinea best, 

I ill the ivnie that he shold dye. 

And ha then op and the Eldridge knighte 

Rett biro in his saddle anone, 
A d the Eldridge knighte and his ladye 

I theyr .astir are thev gone. 



115 



12C 



125 



130 



135 



110 



l.e. I... i I,'-. Bee the Preface to Child Waters. 
\ . 100, inkewarri, MS. 



SIR CAULINE. 


13 


Then lie tooke up the bloudy hand, 


" But as extremes are short of ill and good, 




That was so large of bone, 


And tides at highest mark regorge their flood ; 


And on it he founde five ringes of gold 


So fate, that could no more improve their joy, 


Of knightes that had be slone. 


Took a malicious pleasure to destroy." 
Tancred, who fondly loved, &c." 




Then he tooke up the Eldridge sworde, 145 






As hard as any flint : 


PART THE SECOND. 




And he tooke off those ringes five, 


Everye white will have its blacke, 




As bright as fyre and brent. 


And everye sweete its sowre : 
This founde the Ladye Christabelle 




Home then pricked Syr Cauline 


In an untimely howre. 




As light as leafe on tree : 150 






I-wys he neither stint ne blanne, 


For so it befelle, as Syr Cauline 


b 


Till he his lady see. 


Was with that ladye faire, 




The kinge, her father, walked forthe 




Then downe he knelt upon his knee 


To take the evenyng aire : 




Before that lady gay : 






ladye, I have bin on the Eldridge hills : 155 


And into the arboure as he went 




These tokens I bring away. 


To rest his wearye feet, 


3C 


< 


He found his daughter and Syr Cauline 




Now welcome, welcome, Syr Cauline, 


There sette in daliaunce sweet. 




Thrice welcome unto mee, 






For now I perceive thou art a true knighte, 


The kinge hee sterted forthe, i-wys, 




Of valour bolde and free. 160 


And an angrye man was hee : 






Nowe, traytoure, thou shall hange or drawe, 


15 


ladye, I am thy own true knighte, 


And rewe shall thy ladie. 




Thy hests for to obaye : 






And mought I hope to winne thy love ! — 


Then forthe Syr Cauline he was ledde, 




Ne more his tonge colde sav. 


And throwne in dungeon deepe : 




" 


And the layde into a towre so hye 




The ladye blushed scarlette redde, 165 


There left to wayle and weepe. 


20 


And fette a gentill sighe : 
Alas ! syr knight, how may this bee, 
For my degree's soe highe ? 


The queene she was Syr Caulines friend, 
And to the kinge sayd sbee : 

I praye you save Syr Caulines life, 
And let him banisht bee. 




But sith thou hast hight, thou comely youth, 






To be my batchilere, 170 


Now, dame, that traitor shall be sent 


25 


He promise if thee I may not wedde 


Across the salt sea fome : 




I will have none other fere. 


But here I will make thee a band, 
If ever he come within this land, 




Then shee held forthe her lilly-white hand 


A foule deathe is his doome. 




Towards that knighte so free ; 






He gave to it one gentill kisse, 175 


All woe-begone was that gentil knight 


30 


His heart was brought from bale to blisse, 


To parte from his ladye ; 




The teares sterte from his ee. 


And many a time he sighed sore, 
And cast a wistfulle eye : 




But keep my counsayl, Syr Cauline, 


Faire Christabelle, from thee to parte, 




Ne let no man it knowe ; 


Farre lever had I dye. 


35 


For and ever my father sholde it ken, 180 






I wot he wolde us sloe. 


Faire Christabelle, that ladye bright, 
Was had forthe of the towre ; 




From that day forthe that ladye fayre 

Lovde Syr Cauline, the knighte : 
From that day forthe he only joyde 


But ever shee droopeth in her minde, 
As nipt by an ungentle winde 
Doth some faire lillye flowre. 


40 


Whan shee was in his sight. 185 


And ever shee doth lament and weepe 
To tint her lover soe : 




Yea, and oftentimes they mette 


Syr Cauline, thou little think'st on mee, 
But I will still be true. 




Within a fayre arboure, 




Where they in love and sweet daliaunce 






Past manye a pleasaunt houre. 


Many a kinge, and manye a duke, 
And lorde of high degree, 


45 


t+t In this conclusion of the First Part, and at 


Did sue to that fayre ladye of love ; 




the beginning of the Second, the reader will ob- 


But never shee wolde them nee. 




serve a resemblance to the story of Sigismunda and 






Guiscard, as told by Boccace and Dryden : see the 


When manye a daye was past and gone, 




latter's description of the lovers meeting in the 


Ne comforte she colde finde, 


50 


cave ; and those beautiful lines, which contain a 


The kynge proclaimed a tourneament, 




reflection so like this of our poet, " Every white," 


To cheere his daughters mind : 




&c. viv 







11 



BIB ( aiiim:. 



60 



70 



:. 1 there ram.- knights, 

ad in palle : 

one 

: them ;ill. 



I kni .lit was mickle of might 

■ 

.t, w bom no man knewe, 
daye. 

n as all of blacke, 
I ! - i .. n In rk.', ami liis Bheelde, 

: u Lai whence he did come, 
. knewe * here he did £one, 
\\ ben thej came from the feelde. 

ere preatlye past 

• t hivalrye, 

N\ h.'it 1«> n j.< >n the fourth mornlnge 
rant stifle and starke, 

: limbe and lere ; 

NQ like lire fardel), 

« arc. 

a dwarfl'e full lowe, 

• d "ii hie In 

•■<■ beada he bare, 
bleeu 

rffb, sad touted Lowe, 
Id that bend Boldain! 

heads 1 beare mth me ! 
kingi which he bath slain. 

bis own couslne, 
N I • of thine hath shent : 

mg, 

B bis wrath 

lore t-i win' 
le him thai i' :i \ ,-.■ mayd, 

■ 

with in. a , 

■ 

round table, 

1 ' r k 'oe t 

'■ 
Beada anal] 



80 



85 



90 



100 



le . 



J in 



115 



120 



Bat every knighte of his round table 

Did stand both still and pale : 
For whenever they lookt on the grim soldan, 

It made their hearts to quail. 

All woe-begone was that fayre ladye, 
When she sawe no helpe was nye : 

She cast her thought on her owne true-love, 
And the teares gusht from her eye. 

Up then sterte the stranger knighte, 

Sayd, ladye, be not affrayd : 
lie fight for thee with his grimme soldan, 

Thoughe he be unmacklye made. 



And if thou wilt land me the Eldridge sworde, 

That lyeth within thy bowre, 
I trust in Christe for to slay this fiende 125 

Thoughe he be stifle in stowre. 

Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde, 

The king he cryde, with speede : 
Nowe heaven assist thee, courteous knighte ; 

My daughter is thy meede. 13( 

The gyaunt he stepped into the lists, 

And sayd, A wave, awaye : 
I sweare, as I am the bend soldan, 

Thou lettest me here all daye. 

Then forthe the stranger knight he came 13.' 

In his blacke armoure dight : 
The ladye sighed a gentle sighe, 

" That this were my true knighte !" 

And nowe the gyaunt and knighte be mett 

Within the lists soe broad ; 140 

And now with swordes soe sharpe of Steele, 
They gan to lay on load. 

The soldan strucke the knighte a stroke, 

That made him reele asyde ; 
Then woe-begone was thai fayre ladye 14' 

And thrice she deeply sighde. 

The soldan strucke a second stroke, 

And made the bloude to Howe : 
All pale and wan was that Ladye fayre, 

And thrice she wept for woe. 150 

The soldan strucke a third fell stroke, 
W bich brought the knighte on his knee : 

Sad BOITOW pierced that ladves heart, 
And she shnekt loud shriekm-s three. 

The knighte he leapt upon his Crete, i.v 

All recklesse of the pain : 
Quoth bee, But heaven be now my speede, 

Or alee 1 shall be slaine. 

ped his sworde with mavne and nii-hte, 
And n | » \ bag a secrette part, " l(i( 

He drave it into the soldan's syde, 
Ami pierced him to the heart. 

'' ll " 1 all the people save a Bhoute, 

W ban thej aawe the soldan falle : 
1 I " > ladye wept, and thanked Christ, 163 

bad re kewed her from thrall. 



EDWARD, EDWARD 



15 



And nowe the kinge with all his harons 

Rose uppe from offe his seate, 
And downe he stepped into the listes, 

That curteous knighte to greete. 170 



But he for payne and lack of bloude 

Was fallen into a swounde, 
And there all walteringe in his gore, 

Lay lifelesse on the grounde. 

Come downe, come downe, my daughter deare, 175 

Thou art a leeche of skille ; 
Farre lever had I lose halfe my landes, 

Than this good knighte sholde spille. 



Downe then steppeth that fayre ladye 

To helpe him if she fnaye ; 
But when she did his beavere raise, 
It is my life, my lord, she sayes, 
And shriekte and swound awaye. 



180 



Sir Cauline juste lifte up his eyes 

When he heard his ladye crye, 185 

ladye, I am thine owne true love ; 

For thee I wisht to dye. 

Then giving her one partinge looke, 

He closed his eyes in death, 
Ere Christabelle, that ladye milde, 190 

Begane to drawe her breathe. 

But when she found her comelye knighte 

Indeed was dead and gone, S 
She layde her pale cold cheeke to his, 

And thus she made her moane : 1 95 

O staye, my deare and onlye lord, 

For mee thy faithfulle feere ; 
'Tis meet that I shold followe thee, 

Who hast bought my love soe deare. 

Then fayntinge in a deadlye swoune, 200 

And with a deepe-fette sighe, 
That burst her gentle hearte in twayne 

Fayre Christabelle did dye. * * 



EDWARD, EDWARD, 

A SCOTTISH BALLAD, 

F>'om a MS. copy transmitted from Scotland. 



Qunv dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid, 

Edward, Edward ? 
Quhy dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid ? 

And quhy sae sad gang zee, O ? 
O, I hae killed my hauke sae guid, 5 

Mither, mither : 
O, I hae killed my hauke sae guid : 

And I had nae mair bot hee, 0. 

Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae reid, 

Edward, Edward. 10 
Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae reid, 

My deir son I tell thee, O. 
O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid, 

Mither, mither: 
0, I hae killed my reid-roan steid, 1 5 

That erst was sae fair and free, O. 

Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair, 

Edward, Edward : 
Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair, 

Sum other dule ze drie, O. 20 

O, I hae killed my fadir deir, 

Mither, mither : 
O, I hae killed my fadir deir, 

Alas ! and wae is mee, O ! 

And quhatten penance wul ze drie for that, 25 

Edward, Edward? 
And quhatten penance will ze drie for that? 

My deir son, now tell me, O. 
He set my feit in zonder boat, 

Mither, mither : 30 
He set my feit in zonder boat, 

And He fare ovir the sea, 0. 



And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and zour 
ha', 

Edward, Edward? 
And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and zour 
ha', 35 

That ware sae fair to see, O ? 
He let thame stand til they doun fa', 

Mither, mither : 
He let thame stand til they doun fa', 

For here nevir mair maun I bee, O. 40 

And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and zour 
wife, 

Edward, Edward? 
And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and zour 
wife, 

Quhan ze gang ovir the sea, ? 
The warldis room, let thame beg throw life, 45 

Mither, mither : 
The warldis room, let thame beg throw life, 
For thame nevir mair wul I see, O. 

And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither deir, 

Edward, Edward? 50 
And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither deir? 

My deir son, now tell me, O. 
The curse of hell frae me sail ze beir, 

Mither, mither : 
The curse of hell frae me sail ze beir, 55 

Sic counseils ze gave to me, O. 

This curious Song was transmitted to the Editor 
by Sir David Dalrymple, Bart, late Lord Hailes. 






KING ESTMERE. 



VI. 
KINO ESTMERE. 



ii in the Editor's folio US, 

hut winch ma, ) bean 

; ; 1 1 . j 1 1 1 1 \- , iiiid perhaps ought 

olume. It should 

■ean I a bile p;irt of Spain was 

whose em- 
pire • tgiriahed before the year 
■re spoken of in v.r. 19, &c 
just in the sumo terms as in all other old Romances. 

• s ancient Legend of Sir Boris repre- 

lijKin all OOcasionB) breathing out 

linat 

•• If abound and Termagannte* ;" 

and - • il for bis religion, as to return 

lite meeaage to a Paynim kind's 

fair daughter, who had fallen in lore with him, and 

. d knights to invito him to her 

" I wvll not ohm itirre off tins grounde, 

• ike with an heathen hounde. 

Unchristen houndee, I rede you He, 
Oi I your harts blond shall set." 

tpbment by calling him 
\ ' boundef." 

mable to the real manners of the 
perhaps the sameexouae will hardly 

OUT hard : for that the Adland should he found 

tolling <T leaning at his gate <\er. 35.) may be 

: t perchani •• I little out of character. And yet 

inter ofmannera, Homer, did not think it 

• with decorum to represent a king of the 

* F Ulysses to inquire tor 

b< n he touched at [thaoa as he vras 

i.'.' « "1' :i ship's ear.j-,, <,f iron to dispose 

ancieni 

our own. 

!>• this article, 1 cannot help ob- 

ee, in tins ballad, the 

Id Minstrels ( t! . ,,- s f 

here 

■ • d mounted on b 

i mixied with an attendant to bear 

of his com- 

a the oom- 

m proof of 

1 he fiirtb 

9 6 find 
music an,. 

I h. ir . I 

I imouH 
• d,n,, '• Our poet has 



• 



I I i.. 

-E^yoon sdtothli 
n. m .1 Mill 

ii m i 

1 



-ted the same expedient to the heroes of this 
ballad. All the histories of the North are full of the 
great reverence paid to this order of men. Harold 
Harfagre, a celebrated king of Norway, was wont t) 
seat them at his table aboveall the officers of his court • 
and we find another Norwegian king placing five 
of them by his side in a day of battle, that they might 
be eye-witnesses of the great exploits they were to 
celebrate*. As to Estmere's riding into the hall 
while the kings were at table, this was usual in the 
ages of chivalry; and even to this day we see a relic 
of this custom still kept up, in the champion's riding 
into Westminster-hall during the coronation dinnerf. 
Some liberties have been taken with this tale by 
the Editor, but none without notice to the reader, in 
that part which relates to the subject of the Harper 
and his attendant. 

Hearken to me, gentlemen, 

Come and you shall heare ; 
He tell you of two of the boldest brethren 

That ever borne y-were. 

The tone of them was Adler younge, 5 

The tother was Kyng Estmere ; 
The were as bolde men in their deeds, 

As any were farr and neare. 



As they were drinking ale and wine 

Within Kyng Estmeres halle : 
When will ye marry a wyfe, brother, 

A wyfe to glad us all ? 

Then bespake him Kyng Estmere, 

And answered him hastilee : 
1 know not that ladye in any land 

'1 hat's able* to marryo with nice. 

Adland hath a daughter, brother, 
Men call hex bright and aheene ; 

tf I were kyng here in your stead, 

That ladye ahold be my queene. 

Saies, Reade me, reads me, dearo brother, 

Throughout merry England, 
\\ here are might bud a messenger 

Betwixl us towe to Bende. 

Saies, You ahal ryde yourselfe, brother, 

!!<■ heare you eoinpanve ; 
Manv throughe lals messengers are deceived, 

And 1 feere leal soe ahold wee. 

Thus'the renislit them to ryde 

Of twoe good renislit steeds. 
And when the came to King Adlands hallo, 
Of redd gold shone their weeds. 



tC 



15 



20 



. N '■■ '■■■'•'". i-i. MS. V. 10, his brother's hall, fol. MS. 
N .' ; ' ■■;"■'-■ '■'"■ MS. V. v;. M,„.v a man.. Is. fol. MS. 

"'■'"" Intlq. Dan. p. 173. Northern Antiquities 

L I pp. .isd. asn, .v.-. ' 
tl o 'i" tooonnt of 
Mln ii. i . .in.i \..i, JC.) 
I ii. in, .,.,- in. inluble. 



Bdw. II., in the Essay on th 



KING ESTMERE. 



17 



And when the came to Kyng Adlands hall 

Before the goodlye gate, 
There they found good Kyng Adland 55 

Rearing himselfe theratt. 

Now Christ thee save, good Kyng Adland ; 

Now Christ you save and see, 
Sayd, You be welcome, King Estmere, 

Right hartilye to mee. 40 

You have a daughter, said Adler younge, 

Men call her bright and sheene, 
My brother wold marrye her to his wirTe, 

Of Englande to be queene. 

Yesterday was att my deere daughter 45 

Syr Bremor the Kyng of Spayne ; 
And then she nicked him of naye, 

And I doubt sheele do you the same. 

The Kyng of Spayne is a foule paynim, 

And 'leeveth on Mahound; 50 

And pitye it were that fayre ladye 
Shold marrye a heathen hound. 

But grant to me, sayes Kyng Estmere, 

For my love I you praye ; 
That I may see your daughter deere 65 

Before I goe hence awaye. 

Although itt is seven yeers and more 

Since my daughter was in halle, 
She shall come once downe for your sake 

To glad my guestes alle. 60 

Downe then came that mayden fayre, 

With ladyes laced in pall, 
And halfe a" hundred of bold knightes, 

To bring her from bowre to hall ; 
And as many gentle squiers, 65 

To tend upon them all. 

The talents of golde were on her head sette, 

Hanged low downe to her knee ; 
And everye ring on her small finger 

Shone of the chrystall free. 70 

Saies, God you save, my deere madam ; 

Saies, God you save and see. 
Said, You be welcome, Kyng Estmere, 

Right welcome unto mee. 

And if you love me, as you saye, 75 

Soe well and hartilee, 
All that ever you are comen about 

Soone sped now itt shal bee. 

Then bespake her father deare : 

My daughter, I saye naye ; 
Remember well the Kyng of Spayne ; 80 

What he sayd yesterdaye. 

He wold pull downe my halles and castles, 

And reave me of my lyfe, 
I cannot blame him if he doe, 85 

If I reave him of his wyfe. 



A6. Thp king his sonne of Spayn, fol. MS. 



Your castles and your towres, father, 

Are stronglye built aboute ; 
And therefore of the King of Spaine 

Wee neede not stande in doubt. 90 

Plight me your troth, nowe, Kyng Estmere, 

By heaven and your righte hand, 
That you will marrye me to your wyfe, 

And make me queene of your land. 

Then King Estmere he plight his troth 95 

By heaven and his righte hand, 
That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe, 

And make her queene of his land. 

And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre, 

To goe to his owne countree, 100 

To fetche him dukes and lordes and knightes, 
That marryed the might bee. 

They had not ridden scant a myle, 

A myle forthe of the towne, 
But in did come the Kyng of Spayne, 105 

With kempes many one. 

But in did come the Kyng of Spayne, 

With manye a bold barone, 
Tone day to marrye Kyng Adlands daughter, 

Tother daye to carrye her home. 110 

Shee sent one after Kyng Estmere 

In all the spede might bee, 
That he must either turne againe and fighte, 

Or goe home and loose his ladye. 

One whyle then the page he went, 115 

Another while he j-anne ; 
Till he had oretaken King Estmere, 

I wis, he never blanne. 

Tydings, tydings, Kyng Estmere ! 

What tydinges nowe, my boye"( 120 

O tydinges I can tell to you, 

That will you sore annoye. 

You had not ridden scant a mile, 

A mile out of the towne, 
But in did come the Kyng of Spayne ltib 

With kempes many a one : 

But in did come the Kyng of Spayne 

With manye a bolde barone, 
Tone daye to marrye King Adlands daughter, 

Tother daye to carry her home. 130 

My ladye fayre she greetes you well, 

And ever-more well by mee : 
You must either turne againe and fighte, 

Or goe home and loose your ladye. 



Saies, Reade me, reade me, deere brother, 
My reade shall ryde* at thee, 

Whether it is better to turne and fighte, 
Or go home and loose my ladye. 



135 



V. 89, of the king his sonne of Spaine. fol MS 
* Sic MS. It should probably bo yyse, i v «» t ccaw* 
shall arise from thee. See ver. 140. 



If 



mm; i -i mi RE. 



ole, 
talking aluf taught iU n 

aari»a within tliis field, 

■ 
! redd, 

..< browne ! 

hi * til in. ike redd and arh} 

in all England?, 

■ r, brother 
< >ut ft' the nortli count 
Ami I ■ ■ of fighte, 

harpe in band ; 

in our forhoada 

r.irniiiarye, 

the boldeat men, 

all Christ. 

And thai they raniahl them t<> ryde, 

King A (Hands hall, 

Id ihone their weedea. 

\ Uandfl ball, 

. 
. id. .u j.rnud porter; 

•■ s.l\ ,• .HI.! 

! A.II.t \ oonge, 
'••ana come hither untill thia plica, 

od redd, 

1 l.i^ brother 
■■* ccaaan untill ti 

And tnrer we will thee, proud i 
Tnoar wiH aaye u 

■ 






l 1 > 



15 l 



160 



1 65 



170 









195 



200 



203 



' 



i stmere be stabled his steede 
byre att the hall bord ; 
The froth, that came from his brydle bitte, 
I in King Bremors beard. 

Saies, Stable thy steed, thou proud harper, 

Saies, stable him in the stalle: ^ 
It doth not beseeme a proud harper 
-able ' him' in a kyngs halle 

Mv ladde he is so lither, he said, 

He will doe nought that's meete ; 
And is there any man in this ball 

Were able him to beate 1 

[Spaine, 
Thou speakst proud words, sayes the King of 

Thou harper, here to mee : 
There is a man within this halle 

Will beate thy ladd and thee. 210 

O let that man come downe, he said, 

A sight of him wold I see ; 
And when bee hath beaten well my ladd, 

Then he shall beate of mee. 

Downe then came the kemperye man 215 

And looked him in the eare ; 
For all the gold, that was under heaven, 

He durst not neigh him neare. 

And how nowe, kempe, said the Kyng of Spaine, 
And how what aileth thee? 220 

He saies, It is writt in his forhead 
All and in gramarye, 

That for all the gold that is under heaven 
I dare not neigh him nye. 

Then Kyng Estmere pulld forth his harpe, 225 

And plaid a pretty thinge : 
The ladve upstart from the borde, 

And wold have gone from the king. 

Stay thy harpe, thoxi proud harper, 

For Gods love 1 pray thee, 230 

For and thou playea as thou beginns, 

Thou'lt till* mv bryde from mee. 

He Btroake npon his harpe againe, 

And playd a pretty tlunge ; 
The ladye tough a loud laughter, 235 

As slice sate bv the King. 

. Bell me thy harpe, thou proud harper, 
And thy stringes all, 

many gold nobles 'thou shalt have' 

Aj beere bee ringea in the hall. 240 

What wold ye doe with mv harpe, 'he savd,' 

If 1 did sell it veef 
'• I'.. | .lave my wine and me a Fitt*, 

\\ hen abed together wee bee." 

\ s. 11 me, quoth hee, thy bryde soe gay, 245 
\ i ihee sitts by thy Knee, 

Ami as many gold nobles 1 will give, 
bi - 11 .'!i B tree. 



v. sot; To table hia steede, fol. MS. 
taae, <•. itrain ol motis. See Gloss. 



KING ESTMERE. 



19 



And what wold ye doe with my bryde soe gay, 
Iff 4 1 did sell her thee ? 250 

More seemelye it is for her fayre bodye 
To lye by mee then thee. 

Hee played agayne both loud and shrille, 

And Adler he did syng, 
" O ladye, this is thy owne true love ; 255 

Noe harper, but a kyng. 



" O ladye, this is thy owne true love, 
As playnlye thou mayest see ; 

And He rid thee of that foule paynim, 
Who partes thy love and thee." 



260 



265 



270 



The ladye looked, the ladye blushte, 
And blushte and lookt agayne, 

While Adler he hath drawne his brande, 
And hath the Sowdan. slayne. 

Up then rose the kemperye men, 

And loud they gan to crye : 
Ah ! traytors, yee have slayne our kyng, 

And therefore vee shall dye. 

Kyng Estmere tbrewe the harpe asyde, 
And swith he drew his brand ; 

And Estmere he, and Adler yonge 
Right stifle in stour can stand. 



And aye their swordes soe sore can byte, 

Throughe help of Gramarye, 
That soone they have slayne the kempery men, 275 

Or forst then* forth to flee. 

Kyng Estmere tooke that fayre ladye, 

And marryed her to his wiffe, 
And brought her home to merry England 

With her to leade his life. 280 

* # * The word Gramarye, which occurs several 
times in the foregoing poem, is probably a corrup- 
tion of the French word Grimoire, which signifies a 
conjuring book in the old French romances, if not 
the art of necromancy itself. 

■Ht Termagaunt (mentioned above), is the name 
given in the old romances to the god of the Sara- 
cens : in which he is constantly linked with Ma- 
hound, or Mahomet. Thus in the legend of Syr 
Guy, the Soudan (Sultan) swears, 

" So helpe me Mahowne of might, 
And Termagaunt my God so bright." 

Sign. p. iij. b. 
This word is derived by the very learned editor 
of Junius, from the Anglo-Saxon Tyrt very, and 
ODajan mighty. — As this word had so sublime a 
derivation, and was so applicable to the true God, 
how shall we account for its being so degraded ? 
Perhaps Tyrt-magan or Termagant had been a name 
originally given to some Saxon idol, before our an- 
cestors were converted to Christianity ; or had been 
the peculiar attribute of one of their false deities ; 
and therefore the first Christian missionaries rejected 
it as profane and improper to be applied to the true 



Ver. 253, Some liberties have been taken in the follow- 
ing stanzas; but wherever this Edition differs from the 
preceding, it hath been brought nearer to the folio MS. 



God. Afterwards, when-the irruptions of the Sa 
racens into Europe, and the Crusades into the East, 
had brought them acquainted with a new species of 
unbelievers, our ignorant ancestors, who thought all 
that did not receive the Christian law were neces- 
sarily pagans and idolaters, supposed the • Maho- 
metan creed was, in all respects, the same with that 
of their pagan forefathers, and therefore made no 
scruple to give the ancient name of Termagant to 
the God of the Saracens : just in the same manner 
as they afterwards used the name of Sarazen to ex- 
press any kind of pagan or idolater. In the ancient 
romance of Merline (in the Editor's folio MS.) the 
Saxons themselves that came over with Hengist, 
because they were not Christians, are constantly 
called Sarazens. 

However that be, it is certain that, after the times 
of the Crusades, both Mahound and Termagaunt 
made their frequent appearance . in the pageants and 
religious enterludes of the barbarous ages ; in 
which they were exhibited with gestures so furious 
and frantic, as to become proverbial. Thus Skelton 
speaks of Wolsey : 

" Like Mahound in a play, 
No man dare him with say." 

Ed. 1736, p. 158. 

In like manner Bale, describing the threats used 
by some papist magistrates to his wife, speaks of 
them as " grennyng upon her lyke Termagauntes in 
a playe." — [Actes of Engl. Votaryes, pt. 2, fo. 83, 
ed. 1550, 12mo.] 

Accordingly, in a letter of Edward Alleyn, the 
founder of Dulwich College, to his wife or sister*, 
who, it seems, with all her fellows (the players), had 
been "by my Lorde Maiors officer [s] mad to rid in 
a cart," he expresses his concern that she should 
" fall into the hands of such Tarmagants." [So the 
orig. dated May 2, 1593, preserved by the care of 
the Rev. Thomas Jenyns Smith, Fellow of Dulw. 
Coll.] — Hence we may conceive the force of Ham- 
let's expression in Shakspeare, where, condemning 
a ranting player, he says, " I could have such a fel- 
low whipt for ore-doing Termagant : it out-herods 
Herod." A. iii. sc. 3. — By degrees, the word came 
to be applied to an outrageous turbulent person, and 
especially to a violent brawling woman ; to whom 
alone it is now confined, and this the rather as, I 
suppose, the character of Termagant was anciently 
represented on the stage after the eastern mode, with 
long robes or petticoats. 

Another frequent character in the old pageants or 
enterludes of our ancestors, was the sowdan, or sol- 
dan, representing a grim eastern tyrant : this ap- 
pears from a curious passage in Stow's Annals 
[p. 458]. In a stage-play, " the people know right 
well, that he that plaieth the sowdain is percase a 
sowter [shoe-maker] ; yet if one should cal him by 
his owne name, while he standeth in his majestie, 
one of his tormentors might hap to break his head." 
The sowdain or soldan, was a name given to the Sa- 
razen king (being only a more rude pronunciation 
of the word sultan), as the soldan of Egypt, the 
soudan of Persia, the sowdan of Babylon, &c. who 
were generally represented as accompanied with 
grim Sarazens, whose business it was to punish and 
torment Christians. I cannot conclude this short 
memoir, without observing that the French roman- 



* See Lysons's 



Envirohs of London, 4to, vol. 
c 2 



SIR PATRICK SPENCE. 



I • i i from them La 

than ">nce 
• tin- other p 



adduced La this volume, of the great intercourse 
that formerly subsisted between the old minstrels 
and legendary writers of both nations, and that they 
mutually borrowed each others romances. 



VII. 
SIR PATRICK SPENCE, 



A SCOTTISH BALLAD, 



in riven from hi MS. copies, transmitted from 

• die hero of this ballad lived, 

or when tl iition happened that proved 

blea, I have not been 

able t . v.-t am of opinion, that their ca- 

tastr. altogether without foundation in 

d my own researches. 
In t!.. navigation, rocfa BS used the nor- 

thern aea.s liable to shipwreck in the 

.ths : hence I lav was enacted in the 

ill., (a law which was frequently 

.1 there be na schij) 

lm, with any staple glides, 

fra tl - . and Jnde, unto the 

of our lady called Candel- 

... III. Partt t, ch. 15. 

of Patrick Spence 

the name of Sir Andrew 

sfa admiral who flourished in 

. I V., but wl hath 

mon with this of the ballad. As 

oted warrior of Scotland, it is 

'!•• that, b • ■ I sban Hercules, he hath 

of other heroes. 

I tomferling tonne, 
the blude-reid wine : 

ahar n ill I or, 

I . Idem knicht, 5 

i.ht ane : 

..!ur, 

. 

' m written i braid letter 9 , 

md ; 10 

nid. 



The first line that Sir Patrick red, 

A loud lauch lauched he : 
The next line that Sir Patrick red, 15 

The teir blinded his ee. 

O quha is this has don this deid, 

This ill deid don to me ; 
To send me out this time o' the zeir, 

To sail upon the se ? 20 

Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all, 

Our guid schip sails the morne. 
O say na sae, my master deir, 

For I feir a deadlie storme. 

Late late yestreen I saw the new moone 25 

AVi' the auld moone in hir arme ; 
And I feir, I feir, my deir master, 

That we will com to harme. 

our Scots nobles wer richt laith 

To weet their cork-heiid schoone ; 50 

Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd, 

Thair hats they swam aboone. 

O lang, bang, may thair ladies sit 

\\ i thair fans into their hand, 
Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence 3.5 

Cum sailing to the land. 

O lang, lang, mav the ladies stand 

\\ i" thair gold kerns in their hair, 
Waiting for thair ain deir lords, 

lor they'll se thanie na main 40 

Have owre, have owre to Aberdour*, 

lis til'tie fadom deip : 
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence, 

\\ T the Scots lords at his feitf. 



VIII. 
N HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE. 



in the 
I ' 
ntiquity limn any 

• i 



' 



the royal forests, at a time when the yeomanry of 

this kingdom were every where trained up to the 

bow, and excelled ail other nations in the art of 

shooting, mnal constantly have occasioned great 



upon the river Forth, the entrance to 
winch i- ometimes denominated Demortuomari. 

'i' anions in. nil thinks the Author of Hardyknnte 
tua borrowed seven] expressions ami sentiments from the 

' !•■ ■ in . .mil othi i old Scottish songs in this colection, 



ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GLSBORNE. 



21 



numbers of outlaws, and especially of such as were 
the best marksmen. These naturally fled to the 
woods for shelter ; and, forming into troops, endea- 
voured by their numbers to protect themselves from 
the dreadful penalties of their delinquency. The 
ancient punishment for killing the king's deer was 
loss of eyes and castration, a punishment far worse 
i than death. This will easily account for the troops 
i of banditti which formerly lurked in the royal forests, 
1 and, from their superior skill in archery and know- 
ledge of all the recesses of those unfrequented soli- 
tudes, found it no difficult matter to resist or elude 
the civil power. 

Among all those, none was ever more famous than 
the hero of this ballad, whose chief residence was in 
Shirewood forest, in Nottinghamshire ; and the 
heads of whose story; as collected by Stow, are 
briefly these. 

" In this time [about <the year 1190, in the reign 
of Richard L] were many robbers, and outlawes, 
among the which Robin Hood, and Little John, 
renowned theeves, continued in woods, despoyling 
and robbing the goods of the rich. They killed none 
but such as would invade them, or by resistance for 
their own defence. 

" The saide Robert entertained an hundred tall men 
and good archers with such spoiles and thefts as he 
got, upon whom four hundred (were they ever so 
strong) durst not give the onset. He suffered no 
woman to be oppressed, violated, or otherwise 
molested : poore mens goods he spared, abundantlie 
relieving them with that which by theft he got from 
abbeys and the houses of rich carles : whom JMaior 
(the historian) blameth for his rapine and theft, but 
of all theeves he affirmeth him to be the prince, and 
the most gentle theefe." Annals, p. 159. 

The personal courage of this celebrated outlaw, 
his skill in archer}-, his humanity, and especially his 
levelling principle of taking from the rich and giving 
to the poor, have in all ages rendered him the favou- 
rite of the common people, who, not content to cele- 
brate his memory by innumerable songs and stories, 
have erected him into the dignity of an earl. Indeed, 
it is not impossible, but our hero, to gain the more 
respect from his followers, or they u> derive the 
more credit to their profession, may have given rise 
to such a report themselves : for we find it recorded 
in an epitaph, which, if genuine, must have been 
inscribed on his tombstone near the nunnery of 
Kirklees in Yorkshire ; where (as the story goes) 
he was bled to death by a treacherous nun to whom 
he applied for phlebotomy : 

* &tav unTremeatr trts lattl stean 
laif rofcert earl of fjuntmgtun 
nea arctr bet* aj ijte sae geutr 
an jtpl fcauttr tm 1&)otn f^eutr 
stcfe utlato? as f\i an is men 
btl lEnglantr nt'btr st agen. 
obiit 24 fcal, tefeemfcris, 1247. 

This Epitaph appears to me suspicious : however, 
a late Antiquary has given a pedigree of Robin Hood, 
which, if genuine, shows that he had real pretensions 
to the Earldom of Huntington, and that his true 
name was Robert Fitz-oothf. Yet the most ancient 
poems on Robin Hood make no mention of this Earl- 
dom. He is expressly asserted to have been a yeo- 

* See Thoresby's Ducat. Leod. p. 576. Biog. Brit. vi. 3933. 
+ Stukelev, in his PalaeograpUia Britannica, No. II. 1746. 



man* in a very old legend in verse preserved in the 
archives of the public library at Cambridgef, in eight 
fyttes or parts, printed in black letter, quarto, thus 
inscribed : " (ft Here begynneth a lytell geste of 
Robyn hode and his meyne, and of the proude 
sheryfe of Notyngham." The first lines are, 

" Lythe and lysten, gentylmen, 
That be of free-bore blode : 
I shall you tell of a good yeman, 
His name was Robyn hode. 

" Robyn was a proude out-lawe, 
Whiles he walked on grounde ; 
So curteyse an outlawe as he was one, 
Was never none yfounde." &c. 

The printer's colophon is, " © Explicit Kinge Ed- 
wardeand Robin Hode and Lyttel Johan. Enprented 
at London in Fletestrete at the sygne of the sone by 
Wynkin de Worde." In Mr. Garrick's Collec- 
tion J is a different edition of the same poem " (£ 
Imprinted at London upon the thre Crane wharfe by 
Wyllyam Copland," containing at the end a little dra- 
matic piece on the subject of Robin Hood and the 
Friar, not found in the former copy, called, " A 
newe playe for to be played in Maye games very 
plesaunte and full of pastyme. <& (.*.) 3." 

I shall conclude these preliminary remarks with ob- 
serving, that the hero of this ballad was the favourite 
subject of popular songs so early as the time of K. 
Edward III. In the Visions of Pierce Plowman, 
written in that reign, a monk says, 

I can rimes of Roben Hod and Randal of Chester, 

But of our Lorde and our Lady, I lerne nothygn at 
all. Fol. 26, Ed. 1550. 

See also in Bp. Latimer's Sermons§ a very curious 
and characteristical story, which shows what respect 
was shown to the memory of our archer in the time 
of that prelate. 

The curious reader will find many other particulars 
relating to this celebrated Outlaw, in Sir John 
Hawkins's Hist, of Music, vol. hi. p. 410, 4to. 

For the catastrophe of Little John, who, it seems, 
was executed for a robbery on Arbor-hill, Dublin 
(with some curious particulars relating to his skill 
in archery), see Mr. J. C. Walker's ingenious 
" Memoir on the Armour and Weapons of the Irish," 
p. 129, annexed to his " Historical Essay on the 
Dress of the Ancient and Modern Irish." Dublin, 
1788, 4to. 

Some liberties were, by the Editor, taken with this 
ballad 3 which, in this Edition, hath been brought 
nearer to the folio MS. 

When shaws beene sheene, and shradds full fayre, 

And leaves both large and longe, 
Itt is merrye walking in the fayre forrest 

To heare the small birdes songe. 

The woodweele sang, and wold not cease, 5 

Sitting upon the spraye, 
Soe lowde, he awakened Robin Hood, 

In the greenwood where he lay. 

* See also the following ballad, v. 147. t Num. D. 5, 2. 

t Old Plays, 4to. K. vol. x. 
" Ver. 1. For shows the MS. has shales: and shradds should 
perhaps be sivards : i. e. the surface of the ground : viz. 
" when the fields were in their beauty :" or perhaps shades. 

§ Ser. 6th before K. Ed. Apr. 12. fol. 75, Gilpin's Life of 
Lat. p. 122. 



S HOOD Wi> Om OF GISBORNE. 



1 ' 

: 



15 
;.»tli John, 

n I lull ; 
. Jit, 

mi merry men ell, 

(right yeom 
In green ir cod where the bee. 

irnea of grene, 25 

forrest 

- forth are I 

the merry greenwood, 

\\ li.r. SO 

man, 

leaned to a • 

he wore by his side, 
■. man the bane ; 
• lad in bii capnll hjde 

. 1 mavne. 

quoth Little Johu, 
I 08 ; 

■ j soman 

u ii.it in- doth mesne. 40 

Ah ' John, by in.- thou (tore, 

:e : 

.\ in. mi befl 

:•• hehlllde ( 

ire to ken, 
. man hut beare him ipi 

i bowe, 

• . k.-. 

bale, 

'I'li; !,o 

I 

■ foot© 

IIK'U 



15 






i 






Hill.. || 



shoote new I will shoote, quoth John, 
\\ nli Christ his might and mayne ; 

dee vond fellow that flyes soe fast, 
To ttopp he shall be fayne. 

Then John bent up his long bende-bow, 65 

And fetteled him to shoote : 
1 la- bow was made of a tender boughe, 

And fell downe to his foote. 

Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood, 

That ere thou grew on a tree ; 70 

For now this day thou art my bale, 
J\Iy boote when thou shold bee. 

His shoote it was but loosely shott, 

Vet tlewe not the arrowe in vaine 
For itt mett one of the sherritfes men, 75 

Good William a Trent was slaine. 

it had bene better of William a Trent 

To have bene abed with sorrowe, 
Than to be that day in the green wood slade 

To meet with Little John's arrowe. M 

But as it is said, when men be mett 

1'we can doe more than three, 
The aheriffe hath taken Little John, 

And bound him fast to a tree. 

Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe, 85 

And hanged hve on a hill. 
But thou mayst fayle of thy purpose, quoth John, 

If itt be Christ his will. 

Let us leave talking of Litle John, 

And thinke of Robin Hood, 90 

How lie is gone to the wight yeoman, 

Where under the leaves he stood. 

( rood morrowe, good fellowe, said Robin so fayre, 
" Cood morrowe, good fellowe," quoth he: 

Methinkesbythis howethou hearesin thy hande 95 
A good archore thou sholdst bee. 

1 am w ilfull of my waye, quo' the yeman, 

And of my morning tvde. 
11.' lead thee through the wood, sayd Robin ; 

Good fellow, lie be thy guide. 100 

I seeke an outlaw e, the strannger savd, 

M.n call him Robin Hood ; 

Rather lid meet with that proud outlawe 

Than fortye pound soe good. 

Now come with me thou wighty yeman, 105 

And Robin thou Boone shalt see : 
But firsl let ns some pastime Mad 

I ndei the greenwood nee. 

I nst let us some masterve make 

Anion:; lh ( - woods B0 even, 110 

W Be may chance to meet with Robia Hood 

Mere att BOOM unselt steven. 

I bey eutt them downe two summer shroggs, 
I bat view both under a hreere, 

And tetl them threescore rood in twaine 115 
t the prickes y-fere. 



ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE. 



23 



Leade on, good fellowe, quotli Robin Hood, 

Leade on, I doe bidd thee. 
Nay by my faith, good fellowe, hee sayd, 

My 'leader thou shalt bee. 120 

The first time Robin shot at the pricke, 

He mist but an inch it froe : 
The yeoman he was an archer good, 

But he cold never shoote soe. 

The second shoote had the wightye yeman, 125 

He shote within the garlande : 
But Robin he shott far better than hee, 

For he clave the good pricke wande. 



A blessing upon thy heart, he sayd ; 

Good fellowe, thy shooting is goode ; 
For an thy hart be as good as thy hand, 

Thou wert better then Robin Hoode. 



130 



Now tell me thy name, good fellowe, sayd he, 

Under the leaves of lyne. 
Nay by my faith, quoth bolde Robin, 135 

Till thou have told me thine. 



I dwell by dale and downe, quoth hee, 
And Robin to take Ime sworne ; 

And when I am called by my right name 
I am Guye of good Gisborne. 



110 



145 



My dwelling is in this wood, sayes Robin, 

By thee I set right nought : 
I am Robin Hood of Barnesdale, 

Whom thou so long hast sought. 

He that had neither beene kithe nor kin, 
Might have seene a full fayre sight, 

To see how together these yeomen went 
With blades both browne * and bright. 



To see how these yeomen together they fought 
Two howres of a summers day : 150 

Yett neither Robin Hood nor Sir Guy 
Them fettled to flye away. 



Robin was reachles on a roote, 

And stumbled at that tyde ; 
And Guy was quicke and nimble with-all, 

And hitt him ore the left side. 



Ah, deare lady, sayd Robin Hood, ' 
That art both mother and may,' 

I think it was never mans destinye 
To dye before his day. 



thou 



155 



160 



♦The common epithet for a sword or other offensive 
weapon, in the old metrical romances, is brown. As 
" brown brand," or " brown sword, brown bill," &c. ; and 
sometimes even " bright brown sword." Chaucer applies 
the word rustie in the same sense ; thus he describes the 
reve : — 

" And by his side he bare a rusty blade." 

Prol. ver. 620. 
And even thu3 the god Mars : — 

" And in his hand he had a rousty sword." 

Test of Cressid. 188. 
Spenser has sometimes used the same epithet. See War- 
ton's Observ. vol. ii. p. 62. It should seem, from this par- 
ticularity, that our ancesters did not pique themselves upon 
keeping their weapons bright : perhaps they deemed it more 
honourable to carry them stained with the blood of their 
enemies. 



Robin thought on our ladye deere, 

And soone leapt up againe, 
And strait he came with a ' backward' stroke, 

And he Sir Guy hath slayne. 

He took Sir Guy's head by the hayre, 165 

And sticked itt on his bowes end : 
Though hast beene a tray tor all thy liffe, 

Which tiling must have an ende. 

Robin pulled forth an Irish kniffe, 

And nicked Sir Guy in the face, 170 

That he was never on woman born, 

Cold tell whose head it was. 

Saies, Lye there, lye there, now Sir Guye, 

And with me be not wrothe ; 
If thou have had the worse strokes at my hand, 175 

Thou shalt have the better clothe. 

Robin did off his gowne of greene, 

And on Sir Guy did it throw e, 
And hee put on that capull hyde, 

That cladd him topp to toe, 180 

The bowe, the arrowes, and litle home, 

Now with me I will beare ; 
For I will away to Barnesdale, 

To see how my men doe fare. 

Robin Hood sett Guyes home to his mouth, 185 

And a loud blast in it did blow. 
That beheard the sheriffe of Nottingham, 

As he leaned under a lowe. 

Hearken, hearken, sayd the sheriffe, 

I heare nowe tydings good, 190 

For yonder I heare Sir Guye's home blowe, 

And he hath slaine Robin Hoode. 

Yonder I heare Sir Guye's home blowe, 

Itt blowes soe well in tyde, 
And yonder comes that wightye yeoman, 195 

Cladd in his capull hyde. 

Come hyther, come hyther, thou good Sir Guy, 

Aske what thou wilt of mee. 
O, I will none of thy gold, sayd Robin, 

Nor I will none of thy fee : 200 

But now I've slaine the master, he sayes, 

Let me goe strike the knave ; 
This is all the rewarde I aske ; 

Nor noe other will I have. 



Thou art a madman, said the sheriffe, 
Thou sholdest have had a knight's fee : 

But seeing thy asking hath beene soe bad, 
Well granted it shale be. 

When Litle John heard his master speake, 
Well knewe he it was his Steven : 

Now shall I be looset, quoth Litle John, 
With Christ his might in heaven. 

Fast Robin hee hyed him to Little John, 
He thought to loose him belive ; 

The sheriffe and all his companye 
Fast after him did drive. 



205 



210 



215 



Ver. 163, awkwarde, MS. 



; i:i II EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 



: >>in ; 

■ 

.•. into his fa 
.v in his hand, 225 

one : 
l ittle John bend his bow, 

To««r I '.mi towne 

2 JO 
And eoe did all liis oompanye : 

. 00 behind wold sl.iv. 



Uut lie cold neither runne soe fast, 
Not away soe last cold ryde, 

Bat Lille John with an arrowe so broad 
He shott him into the ' backe'-syde. 



235 



* # * The title of Sir was not formerly peculiar to 
Knights, it was given to Priests, and sometimes to 
very inferior personages. 

Dr. Johnson thinks this title was applied to such 
as had taken the degree of A. B. in the universities, 
who are still styled Domini, " Sirs," to distinguish 
them from Undergraduates, who have no prefix, 
and from Masters of Arts, who are styled Magistri, 
" Masters." 



IX. 



AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 



The subject of this p^em which was written by 
* Henry Percy, fourth Earl 
rtbumberiand, who Ml a victim to the avarice 
\ [I. in i »;»'.' the parliament had granted 
ing (ii the war in Bre- 
; ma 1 1 heavy in the North 
m a Same. The E. of 
lumherland, then lord heutenanl fur Yorkshire, 
form the king of the discontent, and pray- 
But nothing is so anrelenl i 

• ; tli<- k^ .. k that not a penny 

i being delirered by 

lit t If caution, the popolace 
■in to be the promoter of their 
h.'ijsf, and murdered him, 

•vera! «.t lu^ attendants, arho yel are charged 
ba< It ward in their duty on 

i Ins nnlancholv event happened at 

I hirske, in York- 

. Sec, 

■ 6nd orach poetical merit in 

best,) 

picture of the itate and mag> 

n an< ient uobility durin 

• it i-.irl is (I.-mtiIm-.I I, 

Hires, 
i\e. which, 

a hose 
eaatleo had radour and offices of a royal 

ll d luiiis.!; 

n .ill. r the 

• than that 

Ilowing man 



Poeta Skelton Laureatus libellum suum metrice 
alloquitur. 

Ad dominum properato meum mea pagina Percy, 

Qui Northumbrorum jura paterna gerit, 
Ad nutum Celebris tu prona repone leonis, 

Qua?que suo patri tristia justa cano. 
Ast ubi perlegit, dubiam sub mente volutet 

Fortunam, cuncta qua? male fida rotat. 
Qui leo sit felix, et Nestoris occupet annos ; 

Ad libitum cujusipse paratus ero. 

Skfi.tox Laureat upon the dolourous DF.TH'.-. and 

MUCH LAMENTABLE CII AUNCE OF THE MOOST 
HONORABLE ERLE OF ]N T OR TIIUMHERLANDE. 

I wayle, I wepe, I sobbe, I sigh ful sore 
The dedely rate, the dolefulle destenny 

Of him that is gone, alas ! withoute restore, 

Of the blode* royall descendinge nobelly ; 

Whoa Lordshepe doutlea was slayne lamentably 5 
Thorow tresun ageyn hym oompassyd and wrought ; 
Trew to his prince, in word, in dede, and thougiit. 

Of hevenly poems, O Clyo calde by name 
In the college of musis goddess hystoriall, 

Adrcs the to me, whiche am both halt and lame 10 
In tint Uteraunce to make memorva 1 : 
To tin- for Bocoour, to the for helpe I call 

IVfyne homely rudnes and drighnes to expelle 

With tli<' Ereahe waters ofElyconys welle. 



• Tin- mother Of Henry, first Earl of Northumberland, 
Marj daughter to Henrj Earl of Lancaster, whose father 

Ed nd was tecond ton of King Henry HI.— -The mother 

and wlh ol the second Barl of Northumberland were both 
lineal descendant! ol King Edward 1 11.— The Percys also 
wen Uneall) deaeended from the Emperor Charlemagne 
and the ancient Kings of Prance, i>\ his ancestor Josceline 
do l-uv.un (ton of Godfrey Duke <>i Brabant), who took the 
name ol r. in ■> on marrying the heiress of that house in the 
rekga of Baa. n., \ id. Camden liritan. Edmondson, &c. 



AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 



25 



Of noble actes auncyently enrolde, 15 

Of famous princis and lordes of astate, 

By thy report ar wonte to be extold, 
Regestringe trewly every formare date : 
Of thy bountie after the usuall rate, 

Kyndle in me suche plenty of thy nobles, 

Thes sorrowfulle dities that I may shew expres. 20 

In sesons past wbo hathe harde or sene 
Of formar writinge by any presidente 

That vilane bastarddis in ther furious tene, 
Fulfyld with malice of froward entente, 
Confeterd togeder of commoun concente 25 

Falsly to slo ther moste singular goode lorde 1 

It may be registerde of shamefull recorde. 

So noble a man, so valiaunt lorde and knight, 

Fulfilled with honor, as all the worlde dothe ken; 30 

At his commaundement„ whiche had both day and 
Knyghtis and squyers, at every season when [night 
He calde upon them, as menyall houshold men • 

Were no thes commones uncurteis karlis of kynde 

To slo their owne lorde? God was not in their 

[minde. 35 

And were not they to blame, I say also, 

That were aboute hym, his owne servants of trust, 

To suffre hym slayn of his mortall fo ? 

Fled away from hym, let hym ly in the dust : 
They bode not till the rekening were discust. 40 

"What shuld I flatter ? what shulde I glose or paynt ? 

Fy, fy for shame, their harts wer to faint. 

In Englande and Fraunce, which gretly was redouted ; 
Of whom both Flaunders and Scotland stode in 
drede ; 
To whome grete astates obeyde and lowttede : 45 
A mayny of rude villayns made him for to blede : 
Unkindly they slew him, that holp them oft at nede 
He was their bulwark, their paves, and their wall, 
Yet shamfully they slew hym ; that shame mot them 
befal. 

I say, ye commoners, why wer ye so stark mad ? 50 
What frantyk frensy fyll in youre brayne ? 

Where was your wit and reson, ye shuld have had ? 
What willfull foly made yow to ryse agayne 
Your naturall lord ? alas ! I can not fayne. 

Ye armed you with will, and left your wit be- 
hynd ; 55 

Well may you be called comones most unkynd. 

He was your chyfteyne, your shelde, your chef de- 
fence, 
Redy to assyst you in every tyme of nede : 

Your worship depended of his excellence : 

Alas ! ye mad men, to far ye did excede : 60 

Your hap was unhappy, to ill was your spede : 

What movyd you agayn hym to war or to fight 2 

What aylde you to sle your lord agyn all right ? 

The grounde of his quarel was for his sovereynlord, 
The welle concernyng of all the hole lande, 65 
Demaundyng soche dutyes as nedis most acord 
To the right of his prince which shold not be 

withstand ; 
For whos cause ye slew hym with your awne 
hande : 
But had his nobill men done wel that day, 
Ye had not been hable to have saide him nay. 70 



But ther was fals packinge, or els I am begylde : 
How-be-it the matter was evident and playne, 
For yf they bad occupied ther spere and ther shelde, 
This noble man doutles bad not be slayne. 
Bot men say they wer lynked with a double 
chayn, 75 

And held with the commouns under a cloke, 
Whiche kindeled the wyld fyre that made all this 
smoke. 

The commouns renyed ther taxes to pay 

Of them demaunded and asked by the kinge ; 

With one voice importune, they playnly said nay : 80 
They buskt them on a bushment themself in baile 

to bringe : 
Agayne the king's plesure to wrastle or to wringe, 

Bluntly as bestis withe boste and with cry 

They saide, they forsede not, nor carede not to dy. 

The noblenes of the northe this valiant lorde and 
knyght, 85 

As man that was innocent of trechery or trayne, 
Presed forthe boldly to witstand the myght, 

And, lyke marciall Hector, he fauht them agayne, 
Vigorously upon them with myght and with 
mayne, 
Trustinge in noble men that wer with hym there : 90 
Bot all they fled from hym for falshode or fere.. 

Barons, knights, squyers, one and alle, 
Togeder with servaunts of his famuly, 

Turnd their backis, and let ther master fall, 

Of whos [life] they counted not a flye ; 95 

Take up whos wolde for them, they let hym ly 

Alas ! his golde, his fee, his annuall rente 

Upon suche a sort was ille bestowde and spent. 

He was envyronde aboute on every syde 

Withe his enemys, that were stark mad and 
wode ; 100 

Yet whils he stode he gave them woundes wyde 
Alas for routhe ! what thouche his mynde were 

goode, 
His corage manly, yet ther he shed his bloode ! 
All left alone, alas ! he fawte in vayne ; 
For cruelly amonge them ther he was slayne. 105 

Alas for pite ! that Percy thus was spylt, 
The famous erle of Northumberlande : 

Of knightly prowes the sworde pomel and hylt, 
The mighty lyoun * doutted by se and lande ! 
O dolorous chaunce of fortuns fruward hande ! 110 

What man remembring how shamfully he was 
slayne, 

From bitter weepinge himself kan restrayne ! 

O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war ! 

O dolorous Teusday, dedicate to thy name, 

When thou shoke thy sworde so noble a man to 
mar ! 115 

O grounde ungracious, unhappy be thy fame, 
Whiche wert endyed with rede blode of the same ! 

Moste noble erle ! O fowle mysuryd grounde 

Whereon he gat his fynal dedely wounde ! 



* Alluding to his crest and supporters. Doutted is con 
tr acted for redoubted. 



?* 



\\ KLEOY ON HENRY FOURTH I. MIL OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 






lias Boost*' rru. 11 unt nan, 

All ii. 

.1 that thou kan, 
ihow ran, 
, 1 of mortal] dredi 

. kit Sv. ml. : 

.1 playne, 
• i-llumj n\n 
tayno 

130 
w-hils be lyvyd bad fuyaon of every tbiag, 
lord of toure and toune, 
.:i on L s mi to frow ne. 

ht compare, 
in ln'iiurall erla be did excede, 135 

• me I ilare. 
benygne in arorde and iU-(lt>, 

tot in fvt-ry mareiall nede, 

: omapect, and wvse, 139 
;\:io linn ol" fortune's duble 

• extoll his fame 
my rud<- pen enkankerd all with rust? 
tbeply his name, 

in vne homelv muse, that must 
it supprisid with hartly lust, 
bin right noble J.->: . 1-1(3 

to detende his right, 

- to compas, 150 

n be banneaht out of Bygbt, 
\\ ith trowth to medle was all his hole delyght, 
..u. teatefy the same : 
i, alas, it vras note »h*"i^ 

tryne 155 

•• and oompriayde, 
ith the blast of influence dyryne, 

mid be thought ordei ysyd ; 
illthooehc it irere promj 

■ the eloquent 160 

• r.< too lmM • nyfloenoe. 

membra tnyn aal 

• th\ n ben ■ 

: rtunate, 

170 
High" 



All flattringe faytors abhor and from the cast, 
Of foule detraction God kepe the from the blast: 
Lei double delinge in the have no place, 
And be not light of credence in no case. 175 

Wythe bevy chere, with dolorous hart and mynd, 
Echo mail may sorow in his inward thought, 

Thya lords death, whose pere is hard to fynd 

Allgyf Englond and Frauncewere thorow saught 
Al kings, all princes, all dukes, well theyoughtl80 

Bothe temporall and spirituall for to complayne 

This noble man, that crewelly was slayne. 

More specially barons, and those knvgtes bold, 
And all other gentilmen with hym enterteynd 

In fee, as menyall men of his housold, 185 

Whom he as lord worsheply manteynd : 
To sorowfull weping they ought to be constreynd, 

As oft as thei call to ther remembraunce, 

Of ther good lord the fate and dedely chaunce. 

O perlese prince of hevyn emperyalle, 190 

That with one worde formed al thing ofnoughte ; 

Hevyn, hell, and erth obey unto thi kail ; 

Which to thy resemblance wonderslv hast wrought 
All mankynd, whom thou full dere hast boght, 

W ith thvblode precious our finaunce thou dyd pay, 195 

And us redemed, from the fendys pray : 

To the pray we, as prince incomperable, 
As thou art of mercy and pite the well, 

Thou bringe unto thy joy etermynable 

The sowle of this lorde from all daunger of hell, 200 
In endles blis with the to byde and dwell 

In thy palace above the orient, 

Where thou art lorde, and God omnipotent. 

O quene of mercy, O lady full of grace, 

-Maiden moste pure, and goddis moder dere, '205 

To sorowfull harts chef comfort and solace, 
Of all women O floure withouten pere, 
Pray to thy son above the starris clere, 

He to vouchesafby thy mediatioun 

To pardon thy servant, and bringe to salvacion. 210 

Enjoy tryuniphaunt the hevenlv yerarehv, 

With all the hole sorte of that glorious place, 

His aoule mot receyve into ther company 

Thorbwe bounte of hym that formed all solace : 
V\ ell of pile, of mercy, and of grace, ^15 

The father, the son, and the holy goste 
In Trinitale one God of myghts moste. 

U\ 1 have placed the foregoing poemof Skelton'a 

e the following extract from 1 1 awes, not only 

becauae it was written first, but because I think 

Bkelton is in general to be considered as the earlier 

pool J many of his poems being written long before 

Hawea'a Graundt oatoitr. 



THE TOWER OF DOCTRINE. 



X. 



THE TOWER OF DOCTRINE. 



27 



The reader has here a specimen of the descriptive 
powers of Stephen Hawes, a celebrated poet in the 
reign of Hen. VII., though now little known. It is 
extracted from an allegorical poem of his (written 
in 1505,) intitled, " The Hist, of Graunde Amoure 
& La Belle Pucel, called the Palace of Pleasure, 
&c." 4to. 1555. See more of Hawes in Ath. Ox. v. 
1, p. 6, and Warton's Observ. v. 2, p. 105. He was 
also author of a book, intitled, " The Temple of 
Glass. Wrote by Stephen Hawes, gentleman of the 
bedchamber to K. Henry VII." Pr. for Caxton, 
4to. no date. 

The following Stanzas are taken from Chap. III. 
and IV. of the Hist, above mentioned. " How 
Fame departed from Graunde Amour and left him 
with Governaunce and Grace, and howe he went to 
the Tower of Doctrine, &c." As we are able to 
give no small lyric piece of Hawes's, the reader 
will excuse the insertion of this extract. 

I loked about and saw a craggy roche, 
Farre in the west neare to the element, 

And as I dyd then unto it approche, 
Upon the toppe I sawe refulgent 
The royal tower of Morall Document, 5 

Made of fine copper wtih turrettes fayre and hye, 

Which against Phebus shone soe marveylously. 



That for the very perfect bryghtnes 

What of the tower, and of the cleare sunne 

I could nothyng behold the goodlines 

Of that palaice, whereas Doctrine did wonne 
Tyll at the last, with mysty wyndes donne, 

The radiant brightnes of golden Phebus 

Auster gan cover with clowde tenebrus. 



10 



15 



Then to the tower I drewe nere and nere, 
And often mused of the great hyghnes 

Of the craggy rocke which quadrant did appeare : 
But the fayre tower, (so much of ryches 
Was all about,) sexangled doubtles ; 

Gargeyld with grayhoundes, and with manylyons, 20 

Made of fyne golde ; with divers sundry dragons*. 

The little turrets with ymages of golde 

About was set, whiche with the wynde aye moved 

With propre vices, that I did well beholde 

About the tower, in sundry wyse they hoved 25 
With goodly pypes, in their mouthes ituned, 

That with the wynd they pyped a daunce 

Iclipped Amour de la hault plesaunce. 



V. 25, towers, PC. 
* Greyhounds, Lions, Dragons, were at that time the royal 
supporters. 



The toure was great of marveylous wydnes, 

To whyche ther was no way to passe but one, 30 

Into the toure for to have an intres : 
A grece there was ychesyld all of stone 
Out of the rocke, on whyche men dyd gone 

Up to the toure, and in lykewyse dyd I 

With bothe the Grayhoundes in my company* : 35 

Tyll that I came unto a ryall gate, 

Where I sawe stondynge the goodly portres, 

Whyche axed me, from whence I came a-late ; 
To whome I gan in every thynge expresse 
All myne adventure, chaunce, and busynesse, 40 

And eke my name ; I told her every dell : 

Whan she herde this she lyked me right well. 

Her name, she sayd, was called Countenaunce ; 
Into the ' base' courte she dyd me then lede, 

Where was a fountayne depured of plesance, 45 
A noble sprynge, a ryall conduyte-hede, 
Made of fyne golde enameled with reed ; 

And on the toppe four dragons blewe and stoute 

Thys dulcet water in four partes dyd spoute. 

Of whyche there flowed foure ryvers ryght clere, 50 
Sweter than Nylusf or Ganges was ther odoure : 

Tygrys or Eufrates unto them no pere : 
1 dyd than taste the aromatyke lycoure, 
Fragraunt of fume, and swete as any floure ; 

And in my mouthe it had a marveylous scent 55 

Of divers spyces, I knewe not what it ment. 



And after thys further forth me brought 
Dame Countenaunce into a goodly Hall, 

Of jasper stones it was wonderly wrought : 
Thy wyndowes cleare depured all of cry stall, 
And in the roufe on hye over all 

Of golde was made a ryght crafty vyne ; 

Instede of grapes the rubies there did shyne. 



The flore was paved with berall clarified, 
With pillers made of stones precious, 

Like a place of pleasure so gayely glorified, 
It myght be called a palaice glorious, 
So muche delectable and solacious ; 

The hall was hanged hye and circuler 

With cloth of arras in the rychest maner, 

That treated well of a ful noble story, 

Of the doubty waye to the Tower Perilloust ; 

Howe a noble knyght should wynne the victory 
Of many a serpente foule and odious. 



V. 44, besy courte, PC. V. 49, partyes, PC. 

* This alludes to a former part of the Poem, 
t Nysus, PC. X The story of the poem. 



60 



65 



THE c M I l.l > OF I.ll-H. 



XI. 



THE (II I LI) OF ELLE, 



. . I :;t..r"s folio 

M8. B and iimti- 

■ • ,t, that it ei 
npt ;i completion of the story. 

ri-udt-r will •!;<• supplemental 

HW- by their i ind at the same time be 

too it, vrhen be considers how diffi- 
rult it niu^t \»' t.. imitate tin- affecting simplicity 
and artle.s.4 beauties of the original. 

a to a knight See 
( 

deetai 
\\ nh wallea and • light, 

And yonder Urea the Child of Kile, 
and comely knighte. 

s <jard.-n went, 5 

ile, 
W ; - held fair 1 mimelines page 

' downe tdie dale. 

• ha byed him thence, 

!...t .stlilf, 10 

he matte fiure Kmmelines page 
Ding uji the hille, 

■ . thou little foot-page, 
■ save and 
• 1! in.- bow doea tliv ladve !,'i»ye, 15 

ine, 

tea they fall.' Erom her erne ; 

' B deadlve f.udo 

atone h.-r huusi' and thine. JO 

tkeo Boarfe 
n itb man) a ■ 

ihjnka «'ii her, 

■ 

15 

..I) 

• iV HOW loVQ ' 

•rbidde brr to ihiuk <.i 

i Ide T) 



I 



. 



■at, 



.- bye tbee backe, tbou little foot-page, 
And let thy fair bulye know 
This knight will 1 bee at ber bowre windowe, 
Betide me weale or woe. 

The bove be tripped, the boye he ranne, 45 

He neither stint ne stayd 
Untill be came to fair Emmelines bowre 

Whan kneeling downe he sayd, 

O ladye, I've been with thy own true love, 

And he greets thee well by mee ; 50 

This night will he be at thy bowre-windcwe, 
And dye or sette thee free. 

Nowe daye was gone and night was come, 

And all were fast asleepe, 
All save the ladye Emmeline, 55 

\Yho sate in her bowre to weepe : 

And soone she heard her true loves voice 

Lowe whispering at the walle, 
Awake, awake, my deare ladye, 

Tis I thy true love call. CO 

Awake, awake, my ladye deare, 

Come, mount this faire palfraye 
This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe, 

Ile carry e thee hence awaye. 

Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knight, 65 

Nowe nay, this may not bee ; 
For aye shold I tint my maiden fame, 

If alone 1 should wend with thee. 

ladye, tbou with a knighte so true 

Mayat aeiely wend alone, 70 

To my ladve mother 1 will thee bringe, 
Where marriage shall make us one. 

" My father be is a baron bolde, 
Of lynage proude and bye ; 

And w hat would be save if bis daughter 75 

Awaye with a knight should fly? 

All ! well I wot, he never would rest, 
Nor bis meate should doe him no goode, 

1 mil he had slavne thee, Child ofEUe, 
And seene thy deare hearts bloode." 



I 



ladve wert thou in thy saddle sette, 
And a little space him fro, 

1 would not care for thy cruel father, 

Nor the worst that he could doe. 

lady©, w,. r t tbou in thy saddle sette, 
Uld once without, this walle, 

1 a Ottld not eare for thv cruel father, 

Nor the worst that might befalle. ' 

1 mmeKne sighed, fair Emmeline wept, 
ind aye her heart was woe : 

ed he lilly-white hand, 
And downe the ladder he drewe : 



80 



85 



90 



THE CHILD OF ELLE. 



29 



And thrice he clasped her to his breste, 

And kist her tenderlie : 
The teares that fell from her fair eyes 

Ranne like the fountavne free. 



95 



Hee mounted himselfe on his steede so talle, 

And her on a fair palfraye, 
And slung his bugle about his necke, 

And roundlye they rode awaye. 100 

All this beheard her owne damselle, 

In her bed whereas shee ley, 
Quoth shee, My lord shall knowe of this, 

Soe I shall have golde and fee. 

Awake, awake, thou baron bolde ! 105 

Awake, my noble dame ! 
Your daughter is fledde with the Child of Elle 

To doe the deede of shame. 

The baron he woke, the baron he rose, 

And called his merrye men all : 110 

" And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte, 
Thy ladye is carried to thrall." 

Faire Emmeline scant had ridden a mile, 

A mile forth of the towne, 
When she was aware of her fathers men 115 

Come galloping over the downe : 

And formost came the carlish knight, 

Sir John of the north countraye : 
" Nowe stop, nowe stop, thou false traitoure, 

Nor carry that ladye awaye. 120 

For she is come of hye lineage, 

And was of a ladye borne, 
And ill it beseems thee a false churl's sonne 

To carrye her hence to scorne.'' 

Nowe loud thou lyest, Sir John the knight, 125 

Nowe thou doest lye of mee ; 
A knight mee gott, and a ladye me bore, 

Soe never did none by thee. 

But light nowe downe, my ladye faire, 

Light downe, and hold my steed, 130 

While I and this discourteous knighte 
Doe trye this arduous deede. 

But light nowe downe, my deare ladye, 

Light downe, and hold my horse ; 
While I and this discourteous knight 135 

Doe trye our valour's force. 

Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept, 

And aye her heart was woe, 
While twixt her love and the carlish knight 

Past many a baleful blowe. 140 

The Child of Elle hee fought soe well, 

As his weapon he waved amaine, 
That soone he had slaine the carlish knight, 

And layd him upon the plaine. 



And nowe the baron and all his men 
Full fast approached nye : 

Ah ! what may ladye Emmeline doe ; 
Twere nowe no boote to flye. 



145 



Her lover he put his home to his mouth, 

And blew both loud and shrill, 150 

And soone he saw his owne merry men 
Come ryding over the hill. 

" Nowe hold thy hand, thou bold baron, 

I pray thee hold thy hand, 
Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts 155 

Fast knit in true love's band. 

Thy daughter I have dearly loved 

Full long and many a day ; 
But with such love as holy kirke 

Hath freely e said wee may. 160 

O give consent, shee may be mine, 

And bless a faithfull paire : 
My lands and livings are not small, 

My house and lineage faire : 

My mother she was an earl's daughter, 165 

And a noble knyght my sire 

The baron he frowned and turn'd away 

With mickle dole and ire. 

Fair Emmeline sighed, faire Emmeline wept, 
And did all tremblinge stand : 170 

At lengthe she sprang upon her knee, 
And held his lifted hand. 

Pardon, mj lorde and father deare, 

This faire yong knyght and mee : 
Trust me, but for the carlish knyght, 175 

I never had fled from thee. 

Oft have you called your Emmeline 

lifour darling and your joye ; 
let not then your harsh resolves 

Your Emmeline destroy e. 180 

The baron he stroakt his dark-brown cheeke, 

And turned his heade asyde 
To whipe awaye the starting teare 

He proudly strave to hyde. 

In deepe revolving thought he stoode, 185 

And mused a little space : 
Then raised faire Emmeline from the ground e, 

With many a fond embrace. 

Here take her, Child of Elle, he sayd, 

And gave her lillye white hand ; 19t 

Here take my deare and only child, 
And with her half my land : 

Thy father once mine honour wrongde 

In dayes of youthful pride ; 
Do thou the injury e repay re 

In fondnesse for thy bride. 

And as thou love her, and hold her deare, 

Heaven prosper thee and thine : 
And nowe my blessing wend wi' thee, 

My lovely e Emmeline. 



195 



200 



t+t From the word kirke in ver. 159, this hatn 
been thought to be a Scottish Ballad, but it must be 
acknowledged that the line referred to is among the 
additions supplied by the Editor : besides, in the 
Northern counties of England, kirk is used in the 
common dialect for church, as well as beyond the 
Tweed. 



i M O' GORDON. 



KIT. 
EDON ()' GORDON 



; I Ml BALLAD, 



wm printi Loberl and An- 

.. — We are 

with many other valu- 

8 t I 'ivnl Dalrym- 

i preferred in the 

a dow dead. 

r ww here find it improved, and enlarged 

irored from a fragment 

ballad, in the Editor's folio MS. Jt is 

rkable that the latter ia entitled Captain Adam 

1 rlish idiom. But whether the 

author - b, the difference origi- 

.!. The Engliah Ballads are . 
rally • i of England, the Scottish are of 

B tland, and of consequence tlie 

u Bometimee subject to 

■ ' the other, ami moat 

fineal old Scotch 
laid within twenty miles of 
leed all poetic ground, green 

clear brooks. The pastoral 

■ tin- rude chivalry of former ages 
happily nothing remaina bnl the ruins of the castles, 

taring and suocesafu] robbers re- 

I • • of the Rodes 

ufM.ut a moaanr ed mil.' south from Duns, in Ber- 

of the rums of it may he seen to 

i Gordoni were anciently seated in the 

the two Tillages of East and West Gor- 

■ • miles from the castle of the Ixodes* 

■ . on which the Ballad is founded. 

8< otland, (see below,) 
il a ipecimex) of the no- 
• ''■ part 

ind indeed all over Europe. 

■ this Ballad, it should 
• ■ i or minatreki (who 

1 Urelih 1 by reciting tl,. made 

the names of the personages 

to humour their hearers. 1 or in- 

blame-worthy in 

• obsequioui minstrel 

1 irdons, change the name to 

v. , t, 

. \. hit h I owed to 

■ : rfectl) 

> informed 

. the principal I 

■* 0t1 ' a, and the 

then il„. ,. 
impute the burl 

1 
■ r.l volume the n 

: (id 



Morris, wherein the principal character introduced 
had different names given him, perhaps from the 
same cause. 

It may be proper to mention, that in the folio IMS. 
instead of the " Castle of the Rodes," it is the 
•• ( 'a>tle of Britton's-borrow," and also "Diactors"or 
"Draitourj.-borrow,"(foritisvery obscurely written,") 
and " Capt. Adam Carre" is called the " Lord of 
Westerton-town." Uniformity required that the ad- 
ditional stanzas supplied from that copy should be 
clothed in the Scottish orthography and idiom ■ this 
has therefore been attempted, though perhaps imper- 
fectly. 

It fell about the Martinmas, 

Quhen the wind blew shril and cauld, 

Said Edom o' Gordon to his men, 
We maun draw till a hauld. 

And quhat a hauld sail we draw till, 5 

My mirrv men and me? 
We wul gae to the house o' the Rodes, 

To see that fair ladle. 



h.H*l, where 
li.l .1,, 

I >»«• IMIIir.l \ 



The lady stude on hir castle wa' 

Beheld baith dale and down : 
There she was ware of a host of men 
Cum ryding towards the toun. 

see ze nat, my mirry men a'? 

see ze nat quhat l see? 
Methinks 1 see a host of men: 

1 marveil quha they be. 

Bhe weend it had been hir luvelv lord, 

As he cam ryding hams ; 

It was the traitor l'.dom o' Gordon, 

Quha reckt nae sin nor shame. 

She had nae sooner buslcit birssl, 

And putten on hir goun, 
But Edom o' Gordon and his mi n 

Were round about the toun. 

'I hey had nae sooner supper sett, 

\ as sooner said the grace. 
But l'.dom o' Gordon and his men 

W ere light about the place. 

1 be lady ran up to hir towir head, 

Sa fast as she could hie, 

it hv hir mire speeches 

She could w i' bun agree. 

l'ut quhen he see this lady saif, 
And hir yates all looked fast, 

I le lell mi,, a rag« ,,f wrath, 
And his look WSS all aghast 



1 ) 



V.) 



■M) 



EDOM 0' 


GORDON. 


SI 


Cum doun to me, ze lady gay, 


They rowd hir in a pair o' sheits, 


Cum doun, cum doun to me : 


And towd hir owre the wa : 


90 


This night sail ye lig within mine armes, 


But on the point of Gordon's spear 




To-morrow my bride sail be. 40 


She gat a deadly fa. 




I winnae cum doun, ze fals Gordon, 


bonnie bonnie was hir mouth, 




I winnae cum doun to thee ; 


And cherry were her cheiks, 




I winnae forsake my ain dear lord, 


And clear clear was hir zellow hair, 




That is sae far frae me. 


Whereon the reid bluid dreips. 


95 


Give owre zour house, ze lady fair, 45 


Then wi' his spear he turnd hir owre, 




Give owre zour house to me, 


gin hir face was wan ! 




Or I sail brenn yoursel therein, 


He sayd, Ze are the first that eir 




Bot and zour babies three. 


I wisht alive again. 


100 


I winnae give owre, ze false Gordon, 

To nae sik traitor as zee : 50 
And if ze brenn my ain dear babes, 

My lord shall make ze drie. 


He turnd hir owre and owre againe, 




gin hir skin was whyte ! 
I might ha spared that bonnie face 




To hae been sum mans delyte. 






Busk and boun, my merry men a', 


105 


But reach my pistoll, Glaud, my man *, 


For ill dooms I doe guess : 




And charge ze weil my gun * : 


I cannae luik in that bonnie face, 




For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher, 55 


As it lyes on the grass. 




My babes we been undone. 






Thame, luiks to freits, my master deir, 




She stude upon hir castle wa', 


Then freits wil follow thame : 


110 


And let twa bullets flee * : 


Let it neir be said brave Edom o' Gordon 




She mist that bluidy butchers hart, 


Was daunted by a dame. 




And only raz'd his knee. 60 


But quhen the lady see the fire 




Set fire to the house, quo' fals Gordon, 


Cum flaming owre hir head, 




All wood wi' dule and ire : 


She wept and kist her children twain, 


115 


Fals lady, ze sail rue this deid, 


Sayd, Bairns, we been but dead. 




As ze bren in the fire. 


The Gordon then his bougill blew, 




Wae worth, wae worth ze, Jock my man, 65 


And said, ' Awa', awa' ; 




I paid ze weil zour fee ; 
Quhy pu' ze out the ground-wa' stane, 


This house o' the Rhodes is a' in flame, 




I hauld it time to ga.' 


120 


Lets in the reek to me ? 


then bespyed hir ain dear lord, 




And ein wae worth ze, Jock my man, 


As hee cam owr the lee ; 




I paid ze weil zour hire ; 70 


He sied his castle all in blaze 




Quhy pu' ze out the ground-wa' stane, 


Sa far as he could see. 




To me lets in the fire 1 








Then sair, sair, his mind misgave, 


125 


Ze paid me weil my hire, lady ; 


And all his hart was wae ; 




Ze paid me weil my fee : 


Put on, put on, my wighty men, 
So fast as ze can gae. 




But now I'm Edom o'Gordons man, 75 




Maun either doe or die. 




than bespaik hir little son, 

Sate on the nurses knee : 
Sayes, Mither deare, gi' owre this house, 

For the reek it smithers me. 80 


Put on, put on, my wighty men, 

Sa fast as ze can drie ; 
For he that is hindmost of the thrang 

Sail neir get guid o' me. 


130 


I wad gie a' my gowd, my childe, 

Sae wald I a' my fee, 
For ane blast o' the western wind, 


Than sum they rade, and some they rin, 
. Fou fast out-owr the bent ; 




But eir the foremost could get up, 


135 


To blaw the reek frae thee. 


Baith lady and babes were brent. 




then bespaik hir dochter dear, 85 


He wrang his hands, he rent his hair, 




She was baith jimp and sma : 


And wept in teenefu' muid : 




row me in a pair o' sheits, 


traitors, for this cruel deid 




And tow me owre the wa. 


Ze sail weep teirs o'bluid. 


140 




V. 98, 102, Gin, &c. a Scottish idiom to express, 


great 


* These three lines are restored from Foulis's edition, and 


admiration. V. 109, 110, Thame, &c. i.e. Them that look 


the fol. MS., which last reads " the bu/lets " in ver. £S 


after omens of ill luck, i!l luck will follow. 





,.M , u>8 HIM in I-IHMI. BHAKSPIuakB 



\ 

An • 

Bines the foregoing be! inted, 

f the Church of Scotland, 

that 

rth parts of Scotland, 
Adam ' ' ,,ls brother the 

and, nnder 
authority, committed divers 

vijinii thf Forbes 

. iiur Forbes, brother to the Lord 



i.... Not long r.rter, he sent to summon the 
bouse of Tavoy, pertaining to Alexander Forbes. 
The lady refusing to yield without direction from 
her husband, he put fire unto it, and burnt her 
therein, with children and servaunts, being tweuty- 
B6Ten persons in all. 

"This inhuman and barbarous cruelty made his 
name odious, and stained all his former doings ; 
otherwise lie was held very active and fortunate in 
his enterprises." 

This fact, which had escaped the Editor's notice, 
was in the most obliging manner pointed out to him 
by an ingenious writer who signs his name H. H 
(Newcastle, May 9,) in the Gentleman's IMaga 
sine for May, 1775, p. 219. 



THE EVD OF THE FIRST BOOK. 



SERIES THE FIRST. 



BOOK II. 



BALLADS THAT ILLUSTRATE SIIAKSPEARE. 



''amine poet baring occasionally quoted 
III ballads, and even taken the plot of 

of li i ^ playa Gram among them, it 

was i r to preserve as many of these as 

. d, that they might be the 

i \lnbit them in one collective 

This second 1»< »< -k is the ref ore set apart for 

such ballads as are quoted by 

in any degree to illus- 

itingl : tins being the principal point in 

: a ill pardon the admission 

Of some pieces that have DO other kind of merit. 

J hr design of tins book being of a dramatio ten- 

■ be improperly introduced with a 

. .'i of the Knglish Stage, 

: • • i team itifl Poeta ; I 

not unsuccessfully handled 

• already •, will yet perhaps 

.'.oil. 

; 

i.h in 
1 led <m the more 

wont 

•«■». nt in • 



- 

All llir null,.. | |,.„| .,, „ „|„ ,, |„ 
till lj/r» uj, lbU F.M4X- 



of the saints, or some of the more important stories 
of Scripture. And as the most mysterious subjects 
were frequently chosen, such as the Incarnation, 
Passion, and Resurrection of Christ, c<c. these ex- 
hibitions acquired the general name of Mysteries. 
At first they were probably a kind of dumb shows, 
intermingled, it may be, with a few short speeches ; 
at length they grew into a regular series of con- 
nected dialogues, formally divided into acts and 
scenes. Specimens of these in their most improved 
state (being at best but poor artless compositions) 
may be seen among Dodsley's Old Plays and in 
Osborne's Harleyan Miscel. How they were exhi- 
bited in their most simple form, we may learn from 
an ancient novel, often quoted by our old dramatic 
PoetS, ■ entitled " a Merye Jest of a Man that 
was called llowloglas," f cv<\, being a translation 
from the Dutch language, in which he is named 
UUmpitgle* Howleglass, whose waggish tricks are 
the subject of this book, after many adventures 
comes to live with a priest, who makes him his 

farish-clerk. This priest is described as keeping a 
.eman or concubine, who had but one eye, to whom 
Howleglaai owed a grudge for revealing his 
rogueries to his master. The story thus proceeds : 
" And than in the mesne season, while Ilowleglas, 
WSJ psryah clarke, at Easter they should play the 

• s, , Bea Johnson's Poetaster, acl Hi. sec. A, and his 
Maaqm of The Fortunate Isles. \\ bailey's edit. vol. ii. 
!•. 10. rol vi. p. 1!10. 

t Howl< i • i Is a ild in the preface to have died in m,cccc,l. 

Al (In . ml ,.| I),,- |>,,uk, in M,CCC,L. 



ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 



Resurrection of our Lorde : and for because than the 
men wer not learned, nor could not read, the priest 
toke his leman, and put her in the grave for an Aun- 
g-ell : and this seing Howleglas, toke to him iij of the 
symplest persons that were in the towne, that played 
the iij Maries ; and the Person [i. e. Parson or Rec- 
tor] played Christe, with a baner in his hand. Than 
saide Howleglas to the symple persons, Whan the 
Aungell asketh you,whome you seke.you maysaye, 
The parsons leman with one iye. Than it fortuned 
that the tyme was come that they must playe, and 
the Aungel asked them whom they sought, and than 
sayd they, as Howleglas had shewed and lerned 
them afore, and than answered they, We seke the 
priests leman with one iye. And than the prieste 
might heare that he was mocked. And whan the 
priestes leman herd that, she arose out of the grave, 
and would have smyten with her fist Howleglas 
upon the cheke, but she missed him and smote one 
of the simple persons that played one of the thre 
Maries ; and he gave h^r another ; and than toke 
she him by the heare [hair] ; and that seing his 
wyfe, came running hastely to smite the priestes 
leman ; and than the priest seeing this, caste down 
hys baner and went to helpe his woman, so that the 
one gave the other sore strokes, and made great 
noyse in the churche. And than Howleglas seyng 
them lyinge together by the eares in the bodi of the 
churche, went his way out of the village, and came 
no more, there (c)." 

As the old Mysteries frequently required the re- 
presentation of some allegorical personage, such as 
Death, Sin, Charity, Faith, and the like, by degrees the 
rude poets of those unlettered ages began to form 
complete dramatic pieces consisting entirely of such 
personifications. These they entitled Moral Plays, 
or Moralities. The Mysteries were very inartificial, 
representing the Scripture stories simply according 
to the letter. But the Moralities are not devoid of 
invention ; they exhibit outlines of the dramatic art : 
they contain something of a fable or plot, and even 
attempt to delineate characters and manners. I have 
now before me two that were printed early in tl e 
reign of Henry VIII ; in which I think one may 
plainly discover the seeds of Tragedy and Comedy : 
for which reason I shall give a short analysis of them 
both. 

One of them is entitled " Every Man'"' (d). The 
subject of this piece is the summoning of Man out 
of the world by Death ; and its moral, that nothing 
will then avail him but a well-spent life and the 
comforts of religion. This subject and moral are 
opened in a monologue spoken by the Messenger (for 
that was the name generally given by our ancestors 
to the Prologue on their rude stage :) then God (e) 
is represented ; who, after some general com- 
plaints on the degeneracy of mankind, calls for Deth, 
and orders him to bring before his tribunal Every- 
man, for so is called the personage who represents 
the Human Race. Every-man appears, and receives 
the summons with all the marks of confusion and 
terror. When Death is withdrawn, Every-Man ap- 
plies for relief in this distress to Fellowship, Kin- 
dred, Goods, or Riches, but they successively 



(C) 1T. IMPRYNTED..BY WYLLYAM COPLAND: without 

date, 4to. bl. let. among Mr. Garrick's Old Plays, K. vol. X. 

(d) This play has been reprinted by Mr. Hawkins in his 
3 vols, of Old Plays, entitled, " The Origin of the English 
Drama," 12mo. Oxford, 1773. See vol. i. p. 27. 

(e) The second person of the Trinity seems to be meant. 



renounce and forsake him. In this disconsolate 
state he betakes himself to Good Dedes, who, after 
upbraiding him with his long neglect of her (/), 
introduces him to her sister Knowledge, and she 
leads him to the " holy man Confession," who ap- 
points him penance : this he inflicts upon himself 
on the stage, and then withdraws to receive the 
sacraments of the priest. On his return he begins 
to wax faint, and, after Strength, Beauty, Discre- 
tion, and Five Wits (g) have all taken their final 
leave of him, gradually expires on the stage ; Good 
Dedes still accompanying him to the last. Then an 
Aungell descends to sing his Requiem ; and the Epi- 
logue is spoken by a person, called Doctour, who 
recapitulates the whole, and delivers the moral : 

" %. This memoriall men may have in mynde, 
Ye herers, take it of worth old and yonge, 
And forsake Pryde, for he deceyveth you in thende, 
And remembre Beaute, Five Witts, Strength and 
They all at last do Every Man forsake ; [Discretion, 
Save his Good Dedes there dothe he take ; 
But beware, for and they be small, 
Before God he hath no helpe at all," &c. 

From this short analysis it may be observed, that 
" Every Man" is a grave solemn piece, not without 
some rude attempts to excite terror and pity, and 
therefore may not improperly be referred to the class 
of Tragedy It is remarkable that in this old simple 
drama the fable is conducted upon the strictest model 
of the Greek tragedy. The action is simply one, the 
time of action is that of the performance, the scene 
is never changed, nor the stage ever empty. Every- 
Man, the hero of the piece, after his first appear- 
ance never withdraws, except when he goes out to 
receive the sacraments, which could not well be ex- 
hibited in public ; and during his absence Know- 
ledge descants on the excellence and power of the 
priesthood, somewhat after the manner of the Greek 
chorus. And indeed, except in the circumstance of 
Every-Man's expiring on the stage, the Sampson 
Agonistes of Milton is hardly formed on a severer 
plan (/t). 

The other play is entitled " Hick-Scomer" (i), and 
bears no distant resemblance to Comedy : its chief 
aim seems to be to exhibit characters and manners, its 
plot being much less regular than the foregoing. 
The Prologue is spoken by Pity represented under 
the character of an aged pilgrim ; he is joined by 
Contemplacyon and Perseverance, two holy men, 
who, after lamenting the degeneracy of the age, 
declare their resolution of stemming the torrent. 
Pity then is left upon the stage, and presently found 
by Frewyll, representing a lewd debauchee, who, 
with his dissolute companion Imaginacion, relate 
their manner of life, and not without humour de- 
scribe the stews and other places of base resort. 
They are presently joined by Hick-Scorner, who is 
drawn as a libertine returned from travel, and 
agreeably to his name, scoffs at religion. These 
three are described as extremely vicious, who 

(f) The before-mentioned are male characters. 

(g) i. e. The Five Senses. These are frequently exhibited 
as five distinct personages upon the Spanish stage ; (see 
Riccoboni, p. 98,) but our moralist has represented them all 
by one character. 

(h) See more of Every-Man, in Series the Second, Pref 
to B, ii. Note. 

(i) " Imprynted by me Wynkyn de Worde," no date ; in 
4to. bl. let. This play has also been reprinted by Mr. Haw- 
kins in his " Origin of the English Drama," vol. l. p. 69. 






un i II ORIGIN 01 I in. ENGLISH STAGE, 



.- ,|„. 

r him in 

thus impn- 

bod the pro- 

ition is found by 

temphurion, who set him at 

trch of the delin- 

!l appears 

oic manner 

. justice, is 

. men whoaftera long alter- 

• him and Ins libertine com- 

their \ icious cours 

■ mis with ;i few verges from 

: epilogue. This and every 

delude with a solemn prayer. 

: of them in rhyme; in u kind of loose 

: mixed with disticha. 

I- iroukl to point out die absurdities 

plan and conduct of the foregoing play : they 

r ifficienl to observe, that, 

and religious reflection of Pit v. &C. 

<>f a comic cast, and contains a humo- 

of some of die vices of the age. Indeed 

aerally been so little attentive to 

titute other names 

:.:i_-.-s, and we have real characters and 
■ 
see then that the writers of these moralities 

were npon the very threshold of real tragedy and 
corned v ; and therefore we are nol to wonder that 
tragedies and comedies in form soon after took place, 
\ iv d of learning about this time 
•iit them acquainted with the Roman and Gre- 
cian m 



II. A; what | B moralities had 

is difficult to discover. But plays 
navel en exhibited in England 

Matthew Paris tells us 

that < I \ bbol of St. Albans, a 

at for over by Ahltot 

.•hi him the direction of the school 

of ti. .• d | too l ite, went to Dun- 

:• in the abbey there ; where be 

can*-: probably by his scholars) a mira- 

■ l by himself. (n). 

• >• year 1 1 19, and probably 

l he above play of St 

• thai appears, the first spec- 

That was exhibited in these Km ■- 
h wntrr thinks it was 

■ la the i'\ iv. d of Dra- 



■ 



in all Eui 

Lions of M \ pteries 



be 



I ranoe ; 

■ • . . , /, >. 

in the 
; thai Holj I 



• i\<l>rl',tmu\ 

"• • • •* •<<•■ . • ! '•>■!, „u<r. I ! f'u ' 

III Hi. inn. , 

kill ..,.,„.,,. 

1 quoted 






I 



i pai m 



Oting the miracles and sufferings of the Saints, 

e common in the reign of Henry II ; and 

a lighter sort of Interludes appear not to have been 

thru unknown ( c ). In the subsequent age of Chau- 

Plays of Miracles" in Lent were the common 

resort of idle gossips (d). 

They do not appear to have been so prevalent on 
the continent, for the learned historian of the council 
of Constance(e) ascribes to the English the introduc- 
tion of plays into Germany. He tells us that the 
Emperor, having been absent from the council for 
some time, was at his return received with great 
rejoicings, and that the English fathers in particular 
did, upon that occasion, cause a sacred comedy to be 
acted before him on Sunday Jan. 31, 1117; the sub- 
jects of which were: — The Nativity of our Saviour; 
the Arrival of the Eastern Magi ; and the Massacre 
by Herod. Thence it appears, says this writer, that 
the Germans are obliged to the English for the in- 
vention of this sort of spectacles, unknown to them 
before that period. 

The fondness of our ancestors for dramatic ex- 
hibitions of this kind, and some curious particulars 
relating to this subject, will appear from the Hous- 
hold Hook of the fifth Earl of Northumberland, A. 
D. 1512 :(/) whence I shall select a few extracts, 
which show that the exhibiting scripture dramas on 
the great festivals entered into the regular establish- 
ment, and formed part of the domestic regulations 
of our ancient nobility ; and, what is more remark- 
able, that it was as much the business of the chap- 
lain in those days to compose Plavs for the family, 
as it is now for him to make sermons. 

" My Lordes Chapleyns in Household vj. viz. 
The Almonar, and if he be a maker of Interludys, 
than he to have a servaunt to the intent for writynge 
of the Parts ; and ells to have non. The maister of 
gramer, .Sec." Sect. V. p. -1 1. 

" Item, my lorde usith and accustomyth to gyf 
yerely if is lordship kepe a chapell and be at home, 
them of his lordschipes chapell, if they doo play the 
play of the Nativite uppon cristvnmes day in the 
mornnynge in mv lords chapell befor his lordship 
— xxs." ' Sect. Xl.IY. p. 343, 

" Item, ... to them of his lordship chappell and 
other his lordshipis servaunts that doith play the 
play befor his lordship uppon Shrof-Tewsday at 
night yerely in reward — xs." Ibid. p. 3-15. 

'• Item to them .... that playth the play of 



See Piti Stephens's Description of London, preserved 
i>> Stow, (and reprinted %\iiii notes, &c. by the Rev. Mr. 
I'. . in 1774, Ito,) Londonia pro tpectacuUa theatralibus, 
pm Imiis tcenicis, ludos habet tancttorea, representations 
miraculorum, \>-. He Is thought to have written in the 
reign <■! Hen. I [., and to have <l i.-tt in that of Richard I. It 
i- n m-, ;ii the end of tliis book we hnd mentioned Henricum 

I, rtiuni ; but this is doubtless Henry the Second's son, 
who \\.i- crowned during the life of Ins father, in 1170, and 
i- generally distinguished as Rex juvenis, lies films, and 

tetimesthey were jointly named Reges AnglUe. From a 

passage in his Chap. De Reliyione, it should seem that the 

i Si. Thomas Beckel was just then a new acquisition 
to the Church of Canterbury. 

('/) Bee Prolo ae to Wife of Bath's Tale, v. GU7. Tyr- 
whlu'i i d. 

i If, [/Enfant Vid. Hist, du Cone, de Coustance,||vol. 
ii. ,. mi. 

/ " 111.- regulations and establishments of the houshold of 
Hen Ug. Percy, fifth Earl of Northunib. Loud. 1770." 8vo. 
W 1 1< ■•-..! .! mil ill Impression w.i* printed by order of the 
In. Duke and Duchess ol Northumberland to bestow in 
pn • nti to theii friends. Although begun in 1512, some of 
ii.. Regulation* \\<u. composed so late as 1525. 



ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 



35 



Rn&jrrection upon estur day in the mornnynge in 
;ny lordis ' chapell' befor bis lordsbipe — xxs." Ibid. 

u Item, My lorde useth and accustomyth yerly to 
gyf hym which is ordynede to be the Master of the 
Revells yerly in my lordis hous in cristmas for the 
overseyinge and orderinge of his lordschips playes, 
interludes and dresinge that is plaid befor his lord- 
ship in his hous in the xijth dayes of Cristenmas and 
they to have in rewarde for that caus yerly — xxs." 
Ibid. p. 346. 

" Item, My lorde useth and accustomyth to gyf 
every of the iiij. Parsones that his lordschip admyted 
as his Players to com to his lordship yerly at Cris- 
tynmes ande at all other such tymes as his lordship 
shall comande them for playing of playe and inter- 
ludes affor his lordship in his lordshipis hous for 
every of their fees for an hole yere" . . . Ibid. p. 351. 

" Item, to be payd . . . for rewards to Players for 
rdayes playd at Christynmas by stranegeres in my 
house after xxd.(g) every play, by estimacion somme 
— xxxiijs. iiij"(/i). Sect. I. p. 22. 

" Item, My Lorde usith, and accustometh to gif 
yerely when his lordshipp is at home, to every erlis 
Players that comes to his lordshipe betwixt Cristyn- 
mas ande Candelmas, if he be his special lorde & 
frende & Kynsman— xxs." Sect. XLIIII. p. 340. 

" Item, My lorde usith and accustomyth to gyf 
yerely, when his lordship is at home to every lordis 
Players, that comjnh to his lordshipe betwixt Cry- 
stynmas and Candilmas — xs." Ibid. 

The reader will observe the great difference in 
the rewards here given to such Players as were 
retainers of noble personages, and such as are styled 
Strangers, or, as we may suppose, only strolers. 

The profession of a common player was about this 
time held by some in low estimation. In an old 
satire, entitled " Cock Lorreles Bote"(i)the author 
enumerating the most common trades or callings, as 
" carpenters, coopers, joyners," &c. mentions 

" Players, purse-cutters, money-batterers, 

Golde-washers, tomblers, jogelers, 

Pardoners, &c." Sign. B. vj. 

III. It hath been observed already, that plays of 

Miracles, or Mysteries, as they were called, led to 

the introduction of Moral Plays or Moralites, which 

prevailed so early, and became so common, that, 

towards the latter end of King Henry VHth's reign, 

John Rastel, brother-in-law to Sir Thomas More, 

conceived a design of making them the vehicle of 

science and natural philosophy. With this view he 

published "A new Interlude and a Mery of the 

Nature of the Four Elements declarynge many proper 

points of Philosophy Naturall, and of Dyvers 

Straunge Landys,(a) &c. It is observable that the 



(g) This was not so small a sum then as it may now appear ; 
for in another part of this MS. the price ordered to be given 
for a fat ox is but 13s. 4d. and for a lean one 8s. 

(ft) At this rate the number of plays acted must have been 
twenty. 

(t) Pr. at the Sun in Fleet-st.by W. de Worde,no date, 
b. 1. 4to. 

(a) Mr. Garrickhas an imperfect copy, (Old Plays, l. vol. 
iii.) The dramatis personae are, "H. The Messenger [or 
Prologue]. Nature naturate ; Human) te ; Studyous Desire ; 
Sensuall Appetyte ; The Taverner ; Experyence ; Ygno- 
raunce (Also yf ye lyste ye may brynge in a dys-gy- 
synge.") Afterwards follows a table of the matters handled 
in the interlude; among which are, "f. Of certeyn con- 
clusions prouvynge the yerthe must nedes be rounde, and 
that yt is in circumference above xxi M. myle." " If. Of 



poet speaks of the discovery of America as then 
recent ; 

" Within this xx yere 

Westwarde be founde new landes 

That we never harde tell of before this," &c, 

The West Indies were discovered by Columbus 
in 1492, which fixes the writing of this play to 
about 1510 (two years before the date of the above 
Houshold Book.) The play of " Hick Scorner" was 
probably somewhat more ancient, as he still more 
imperfectly alludes to the American discoveries, 
under the name of " the Newe founde Ilonde." 
(Sign. A. vij.) 

It is observable that in the olden moralities, as in 
that last mentioned, Every-man, &c, is printed no 
kind of stage direction for the exits and entrances of 
the personages, no division of acts and scenes. But 
in the moral interlude of " Lusty Juventus "(b) 
written under Edward VI., the exits and entrances 
began to be noted in the margin :(c) at length in 
Queen Elizabeth's reign moralities appeared formally 
divided into acts and scenes, with a regular pro- 
logue, &c. One of these is reprinted by Dodsley. 

Before we quit this subject of the very early 
printed plays, it may just be observed, that, although 
so few are now extant, it should seem many were 
printed before the reign of Queen Elizabeth, as at 
the beginning of her reign, her Injunctions in 1559 
are particularly directed to the suppressing of "many 
pamphlets, playes, and ballads ; that no manner of 
person shall enterprize to print any such, &c." but 
under certain restrictions. Vid. Sect. V. 

In the time of Hen. VIII., one or two dramatic 
pieces had been published under the classical names 
of comedy and tragedy,(d) but they appear not to have 
been intended for popular use : it was not till the 
religious ferments had subsided that the public had 
leisure to attend to dramatic poetry. In the reign of 
Elizabeth, tragedies and comedies began to appear 
in form, and, could the poets have persevered, the 
first models were good. " Corboduc," a regular 
tragedy, was acted in 1561 ; (e) and Gascoigne, in 
1566, exhibited " Jocasta," a translation from Euri- 
pides, as also " The Supposes," a regular comedy, 
from Ariosto : near thirty years before any of Shake- 
speare's were printed. 

The people however still retained a relish for their 



certeyne points of cosmographye — and of dyvers straunge 
regyons — and of the new founde landys, and the maner of 
the people." This part is extremely curious, as it shows 
what notions were entertained of the new American dis- 
coveries by our own countrymen. 

(b) Described in Series the Second, preface to book ii. 

The Dramatis Personze of this piece are, " IT. Messenger, 

] Lusty Juventus,Good Counsail,Knowledge,Sathan the devyll, 

Hypocrisie, Fellowship, Abominable-lyviug an harlot], God's 

merciful-promises." 

(cj I have also discovered some few Exeats and Intrats 
in the very old interlude of the " Four Elements." 

(d) Bishop Bale had applied the name of Tragedy to his 
Mystery of "God's Promises," in 1538. In 1540 John 
Palsgrave, B. D. had republished a Latin comedy, called 
"Acolastus," with an English version. Holingshed tells us 
(vol. iii. p. 850), that so early as 1520 the king had " a good 
comedie of Plautus plaied" before him at Greenwich ; but 
this was in Latin, as Mr. Farmer informs us in his curious 
" Essay on the Learning of Shakespeare," 8vo. p. 31. 

e) See Ames, p. 316. This play appears to have been 

first printed under the name of " Gorboduc;" then under 
that of " Ferrer and Porrer," in 1569 ; and ag,am under 

" Gorboduc," 1590. Ames calls the first edition quarto, 

Langbaine, octavo, and Tanner 12mo. 






ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 



j.ular 

.•111 their 1!. 

.r modern 

ti our 

rise from the lighter 

t of these i 

: . n end buf- 

bu well deduced from 

i-comedies. 

. i Dstomed to 



Krrn a 






tngedie* en kept ''"'"' 

titled" 1 he New Custom"(A I 
at length they assumed 

i|, wi'h some classical 
i following reigns 
,ts of tin- court. 

1 \ . I !•• i ! i ; I to lit' acted 

filiation, appear to liavc given birth to a 

■ exhibition, which, though 

with tragedy ami comedy, were by 

iiuatic writers considered as quite dis- 

were historical plays, 

I of dramatic writing, which 

reaeuibhd the old myateries in representing a scries 

mply in the order of time in 

which they h ap pe n ed, without any regard to the 

1 he-.- pieces seem to differ 

. • - much as historical poems do 

ai the Pharaalia doss from the /Eneid. 

Mtnhute to make dramatic poetry 

take tins form a n after the myateries 

ihtted, was published a large col- 

poetica] narratives, called •• The Bdirrour 

• at Dumber of the 

. i English history are 

drawn wasting their own misfortunes. This book 

I of a dramatic cast ; and therefore, 

has well observed, might hare 

producing historical plays. These 

ly fiirni bed the subjects, and the 

ted the plan. 

n one instance of 
If, which was per- 

. • Iigious sul 

" ink, we may | renounce the reprssents- 

Dl in English history, that 

■<s and rhimSS. I bis S as 

: lunded 

Of tli • Danr-, as it h;ip- 

"i i.., L002.(d) 
• i formed by certain nun 

I . lit. ri.im - 

1 lie, in July! »75, prepared 



M -in,. , bad upon the 

II ■ Ill !,.-! P . 

'.•■• i. imiiiliai with even 

vol v. 
ii r 

rdlimry 
\ 
I Pyc. 

< ... led 

( kM llll\ . 

111. 1 1 .ii) 

I 

.■ Iwuii'a |.. n, 



f,.r Qoeen Elizabeth, and this the rather "because 
the matter mentioneth how valiantly our English 
a, for the love of their country, behaved them- 
selves." 

The writer, whose words are here quoted, (e) 
hath given a short description of the performance; 
which seems on that occasion to have been without 
recitation or rimes, and reduced to mere dumb- 
show ; consisting of violent skirmishes and encoun- 
ters, lirst between Danish and English "lance- 
knights on horse back," armed with spear and shield ; 
ami afterwards between " hosts" of footmen : which 
at length ended in the Danes being " beaten down, 
overcome, and many led captive by our English 
women." (J) 

This play, it seems, which was wont to be exhi- 
bited in their city yearly, and which had been of 
great antiquity and long continuance there, (g) had 
of late been suppressed, at the instance of some well 
meaning but precise preachers, of whose " sourness" 
herein the townsmen complain ; urging that their 
play was " without example of ill manners, papistry, 
or any superstition ;"(/i) which shows it to have, 
been entirely distinct from a religious mystery. 
But having been discontinued, and as appears from 
the narrative, taken up of a sudden after the sports 
were begun, the players apparently had not been 
able to recover the old rhimes, or to procure new 
ones, to accompany the action ; which if it originally 
represented " the outrage and importable insolency 
of the Danes, the grievous complaint of Iluna, king 
Kthelred's chieftain in wars* ;" his counselling and 
contriving the plct to dispatch them ; concluding 
with the conflicts above mentioned, and their final 
suppresiou — " expressed in actions and rhimes 
after their manner, "(i) one can hardly conceive a 
more regular model of a complete drama ; and, if 
taken up soon after the event, it must have been the 
earliest of the kind in Europe. f 

Whatever this old play, or "storial show,"(fr) 
WSS at the time it was exhibited to Queen Elizabeth, 
it had probably our young Shakespeare for a spec- 
tator, who was then in his twelfth year, and doubt- 
less attended with all the inhabitants of the sur- 
rounding country at these "princely pleasures of 
ken, lworth,"i /) whence Stratford is only a few 
miles distant. And as the Queen was much diverted 
with the Coventry play, " whereat her Majesty 
laught well," and rewarded the performers with 2 

(e) Re. I, am ham, whose Letter, containing a full descrip- 
ton of the Shows, &c. is reprinted at lartje in Nichollsi 
Progreaaei of Q. Elizabeth, &c. vol. i. -Ho, 1788. -That, 
writer*! orthography, being peculiar and affected, is not here 
followed. 

Laneham describes this play of Hock Tuesday, which 
wai •• presented in an historical cue by certain good hearted 
"i< n ol Coventry" (p. 82), and which was " wont to be 
play'd in (heir citie yearly" i|>. 33J, as if it were peculiar 
to them, terming it "their old storial show"(p 3*2). — And so 
It might be as represented and expressed by 1 hem " after 
theli manner" ( p. 33) : although we are also told by Bevll 
HI ons, that Si. B rice's Eve was still celebrated by the 
Northern English in commemoration of this massacre of 
ile I). in.-, the women beating in s* Instruments, and sin.n- 
Ing ..hi rhimes, in praise of their cruel ancestors. See his 
Short View 01 Eng. History, 8 vo, p. 17. (The Preface it 
dated I.'.; 1 . 

Laneham, p. :i7. {</) Ibid p. 33. 

Ibid. • Ibid. p. 32. (i) Ibid. p. 33. 

* Ih. Ilium.' \«. prove this play to have been in Eng- 
Uah, whereat Mr. Thos. Warton thinks the Mysteries coin- 

fi 1 befon 1828 were in Latin. Malone's Shakesp. vol. 
. pt 11 p. v. 

N ichols's Progresses, vol i. p. 57. 



ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 



S? 



bucks, and 5 marks in money : who, " what rejoicing 
upon their ample reward, and what triumphing upon 
the good acceptance, vaunted their play was never 
so dignified, nor ever any players before so beatified :" 
but especially if our young bard afterwards gained 
admittance into the castle to see a play, which the 
same evening, after supper, was there "presented 
of a very good theme, but to set forth by the actors' 
well handling, that pleasure and mirth made it seem 
very short, though it lasted two good hours and 
more (m)," we may imagine what an impression 
was made on his infant mind. Indeed the dramatic 
cast of many parts of that superb entertainment, 
which continued nineteen davs, and was the most 
splendid of the kind ever attempted in this kingdom; 
the addresses to the Queen in the personated charac- 
ters of Sybille, a savage man, and Sylvanus, as she 
approached or departed from the castle ; and, on the 
water, by Arion, a Triton, or the Lady of the Lake, 
must have had a very great effect on a young imagi- 
nation, whose dramatic powers were hereafter to 
astonish the world. 

But that the historical play was considered by 
our old writers, and by Shakespeare himself, as dis- 
tinct from tragedy and comedy, will sufficiently 
appear from various passages in their works. " Of 
late days,"says Stow, " in place of those stage plays(?i) 
hath been used comedies, tragedies, enterludes and 
histories both true and fayned(o)." — Beaumont and 
Fletcher, in the prologue to " The Captain," say, 

" This is nor Comedy, nor Tragedy, 
Nor History." 

Polonius in " Hamlet" commends the actors, as the 
best in the world, " either for tragedie, comedie, 
historie, pastorall,"&c. And Shakespeare's friends, 
Heminge and Condell, in the first folio edit, of his 
plays, in 1623 (p), have not only entitled their book 
" Mr. William Shakespeare's comedies, histories, 
and tragedies:" but in their table of contents have 
arranged them under those three several heads ; 
placing in the class of histories, " K. John, Richard 
II, Henry IV, 2 pts. Henry V, Henry VI, 3 pts. 
Rich. Ill, and Henry VIII ;" to which they might 
have added such of his other plays as have their sub- 
jects taken from the old Chronicles, or Plutarch's 
lives. 

Although Shakespeare is found not to have been 
the first who invented this species of drama(<7), yet 
he cultivated it with such superior success, and 
threw upon this simple inartificial tissue of scenes 
such a blaze of genius that his histories maintain 
their ground in defiance of Aristotle and all the 
critics of the classic school, and will ever continue 
to interest and instruct an English audience. 

Before Shakespeare wrote, historical plays do not 
appear to have attained this distinction, being not 
mentioned in Q. Elizabeth's licence in l574(r) to 
James Burbage and others, who are only impowered 
" to use, exercyse, and occupie, the arte andfacultye 



(m) Laneham, p. 38, 39. This was on Sunday evening. 
July 9. 

<ri) The Creation of the World, acted at Skinners well in 
1409. 

(o) See Stow's Survey of London, 1603, 4to, p. 94, (said in 
the title-page to he " written in the year 1598.") See also 
Warton's Observations on Spenser, vol. ii, p. 109. 

(p) The same distinction is continued in the 2d. and 3d. 
folios. &c. 

(g) See Malone's Shakesp. vol- i. part ii. p. 31. 

(r) See Malone's Shi»kesp. vol. i. pt. ii. p. 37. 



of playenge comedies, tragedies, enterludes, stage- 
playes, and such other like." — But when Shakes- 
peare's histories had become the ornaments of the 
stage, they were considered by the public, and by 
himself, as a formal and necessary species, and are 
thenceforth so distinguished in public instruments. 
They are particularly inserted in the licence granted 
by K. James I, in 1603 (s), to W. Shakespeare 
himself, and the players his fellows ; who are 
authorized " to use and exercise the arte and faculty 
of playing comedies, tragedies, histories, inter- 
ludes, morals, pastorals, stage-plaies, and such 
like." 

The same merited distinction they continued 
to maintain after his death, till the theatre itself was 
extinguished ; for they are expressly mentioned in 
a warrant in 1622, for licensing certain " late come- 
dians of Q. Anne deceased, to bring up children in 
the qualitie and exercise of playing comedies, his- 
tories, interludes, morals, pastorals, stage-plaies, 
and such like*." The same appears in an admoni- 
tion issued in 1637 (t) by Philip Earl of Pembroke 
and Montgomery, then Lord Chamberlain, to the 
master and wardens of the company of printers and 
stationers ; wherein is set forth the complaint of 
his Majesty's servants the players, that " diverse of 
their books of comedyes and tragedyes, chronicle- 
historyes, and the like," had been printed and pub- 
lished to their prejudice, &c. 

This distinction, we see, prevailed for near half a 
century ; but after the Restoration, when the stage 
revived for the entertainment of a new race of 
auditors, many of whom had been exiled in France, 
and formed their taste from the French theatre, 
Shakespeare's histories appear to have been no longer 
relished ; at least the distinction respecting them is 
dropt in the patents that were immediately granted 
after the king's return. 

This appears not only from the allowance to Mr. 
William Beeston in June 1660(w), to use the house 
in Salisbury-court " for a play-house, wherein com- 
edies, tragedies, tragi-comedies, pastoralls, and inter- 
ludes, may be acted," but also from the fuller grant 
(dated August 21, 1760)(y)to Thomas Killigrew, 
Esq. and Sir William Davenant, knt. by which 
they have authority to erecttwo companies of players, 
and to fit up two theatres " for the representation 
of tragydies, comedyes, playes, operas, and all other 
entertainments of that nature." 

But while Shakespeare was the favourite dramatic 
poet, his histories had such superior merit, that he 
might well claim to be the chief, if not the only his- 
toric dramatist that kept possession of the English 
stage ; which gives a strong support to the tradition 
mentioned by Gildon(u;),that, in ^conversation with 
Ben Jonson, our bard vindicated his historical 
plays, by urging, that, as he had found " the nation 
in general very ignorant of history, he wrote them 

(s) Ibid. p. 40. 

* Ibid. p. 49. Here Histories, or Historical Plays, are 
found totally to have excluded the mention of Tragedies ; a 
proof of their superior popularity. In an Order for the 
King's Comedians to attend K. Charles I in his summer's 
progress, 1636, (Ibid. p. 144.) Histories are not particularly 
mentioned : bu so neither are tragedies : they being briefly 
directed to " act playes, eomedyes, and interludes, without 
any lett," &c. (t) Ibid, p. 139. 

(u) This is believed to be the date by Mr. Malone, vol. 
ii. pt. ii. p. 239. (v) Ibid. p. 244. 

(u>) See Malone's Shakesp. vol. vi. p. 427. This ingenious 
writer will, with his known liberality, excuse the difference 
of opinion here entertained concerning the above tradition. 



ON mi ORIGIN 01 mi- ENGLISH STAGE. 



ilar." 
| 






.t donht luit Ins illite- 



tnl lUCh m-tnie- 

ithsr a nding 

I dim ; 

,'v profit by bis admi- 

, long as he con- 

tbem to Ins audience. Ami. as it 

; tin- first who intro- 

, I see not why 

..1 abundant proof, that 

<psara and ln^ oontemportriee considered 

. of a legitimate 

sufficiently separate from tragedy 

bich deserves the par- 

of Ins critics and commentators • 

ing to it, deprive biro of his proper 

vindication tor his neglect of the 

irture from the classical dramatic 

. if H be the lir.-t canon of sound criti- 

work by whatever rule the 

author prescribed for his own obserrance, then we 

II istories by the ge- 

: comedy. Whether the rule 

. . - tnar inquiry ; but eer- 

• unine ■ work only by those 

.• .'. as composed. This 

would- if impertinent criticism. 

V- \\ ■ brought the inquiry as low as 

1. but cannot quit it, without entering 
ription of what may be called the 
• the ancient Pnglish Bt i 

ttr forefathers for dra- 

• i. it not fewer than nineteen 
pened before the year I 

I'r line published Ins 1 1 i>t riom;istix( a ). From 

• em that " tobacco, wine and 

& accommodationa 

H within OUr memory at Sadler's 

vend 
Q already shown 

H 

1 not among ihi seven 

D • ■ Old Plays. 

! M vs. ttul i»< ni\ three 

la .| ■ ii in London : 

n a; i. in- urn. . Bi i slalom - Bhakcsn. 

• in iii.- foUowla • i i 

thill .x.iil 

■ 

l'l>< II ■ 

I IIJII. .|| I..! |l 

IHI. .Ill \ I [ >. .1) I > 

I 

\\ .... . 

■ i i letter, 

I 

Inl i .i 
co, whlli il.. 

H 



A 



tainers, or menial servants to particular noblemen, (d) 
who protected them in the exercise of their profes- 
sion ; and manv of them were occasionally Strollers, 
that travelled from one gentleman's house to another. 
much were they encouraged, that, notwith- 
standing their multitude, some of tbem acquired 
fortunes. Edward Allen, master of the play- 
house called the Globe, who founded Dulwich col- 
lege, is a known instance. And an old writer speaks 
of the verv inferior actors, wdiom he calls the hire- 
lings, as living in a degree of splendour, which was 
thought enormous in that frugal age(e). 

At the same time the ancient prices of admission 
were often verv low. Some houses had penny - 
benches/ / ). The " two-penny gallery" is mentioned 
in the prologue to Beaumont and Fletcher's Woman- 
Hater(V). Andseatsof three-pence and agroatseem 
to be intended in the passage of Prynne above refer- 
red to. Vet different houses varied in their prices : 
that play-house called the Hope had seats of five 
several rates from six-pence to half-a-crown(/i). But 



(d) See the Pref. to Dod-ley's Old Plays.— The author of 
an old invective against the Stage, called, A third Blast of 
ltetrait from PI ties, &c. 1580, 12mo, says, "Alas! that 
private affection should so raigne in the nobilitie, that to 
pleasure tbeir servants, and toupholde them in their vanity e. 
they should restraine the magistrates from executing their 

Office ! They [the nobility; are thought to be covetous by 

permitting their servants. . . to live at the devotion or alines 
Of other men, passing from countrie to eountrie, from one 
gentleman's house 10 another, ottering their service, which 
is a kind of beggerie. Who indeede.to speake more trtielie, 
are become beggcr* for their servants. For comonlie the 
good wil, men beare to their Lordes, makes them draw the 
Stlinges Of their purses to extend their liberalitie." Vid. 
pag. r:.. 7t.. &i 

(*•) Stephen Goason, in his Schoole of Abuse, 1579, l'2mo. 
fo. '23, says thus of what he terms in his margin Player*- 
in. n : Over lashing in apparel is so common a fault, that 
the very hyerlings of some of our Players, which stand at 
revirsion of vi s. by (he week, jet under gentlemens noses 
in satis of silke, exercising themselves to prating on the 
and common scoffing when they come abrode, where 
the] look askance over the shoulder at every man, of whom 
the Sunday before they begged an alines. I speake not 
thi-, as though everye one that professeth the qaalitie so 
abased hlmselfe, for it is well knowen, thn some of them 
are sober, dlscreete, properly learned, honest honsholders 
and eiti/.ns, well-thought on among their neighbours at 
home," [lie seems to mean Edw. Allen above mentioned] 
" though the j)i\de of their shadowes (I meane those hangc- 
byea, whom they sneoonr with stipend) cause them to be 
somewhat d talked of abroad. 

I., t subsequent period we have the following satirical 
Ring ai tin- showy exterior and supposed profits of the acton 
oi ih.. i time. V id. Greene's Groatsworth of Wit, 1(525, 4to. 
•• W li.it i- yom profession t "- "Truly, sir,.... l am a 
Player." •• \ Player 1 — 1 took you rather for a Gentle- 
man Of great living ; for, it bj outward habit men should be 
.. ii-uie.l. I tell you, you would be taken for a substantial 
man." w 8o 1 am where 1 dwell What, though the 

world once wenl haul with me, when l was fayne to carry 

my playing-fardle •■ foot-backe: te mp ora mutantvr for 

ins \.i\ share In playing apparrell will not be sold for two 
ktmdrtd pounds. ...Nay more, I can serve to make a pretty 
(■■i I wai a countn author, passing at a Moral, &c." 
rale. -i'i.. I). :<. I». 

Oldys, from Tom Nash, an old pamphlet- 
"■"• r. \n.l this i- confirmed by Taylor the W ater-poet, in 
hi- Pi ii- ..i Beggerie, p. BO, 

\ < I have 1 seen N begger with his many, [sc. vermin] 
Come .it a pli\ house, ill in for one penny." 
Bo in the Belman'i Nigh I walks by Decker, 1010, 4to. 
•■ Paj iii> two p tmet to ■ Player, in this gallery thoumayeat 
i harlot." 

In. in. t to Benjonson's Bartholomew-fair. An ancient 
-mi i. ..I pi..-., called "The Blacke Hook, Lend. 1(304, 4to." 
i dk. of " Ih.- tfJrjMIMtt Roomes in Playhouses;" and 
'• iv< ne whom he calls " Arch-tobacco taker 

land, in Ordinaries, upon ttagu both common and 
Drlvati " 



ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 



3 J 



a shilling seems to have been the usual price( i) of 
what is now called the Pit, which probably had its 
name from one of the play-houses having- been a 
Cock-pit(fc). 

The day originally set apart for theatrical exhibi- 
tion appears to have been Sunday ; probably because 
the first dramatic pieces were of a religious cast. 
During a great part of Queen Elizabeth's reign, the 
playhouses were only licenced to be opened on that 
day(/) ; but before the end of her reign, or soon 
after, this abuse was probably removed. 

The usual time of acting was early in the after- 
noon(/ra), plays being generally performed by day- 
ligbt(ra). All female parts were performed by men, no 
English actress being ever seen on the public stage(o), 
before the Civil Wars. 



(i) Shakesp. Prol. to Hen. viij. — Beaum. and Fletch. Pro], 
to the Captain, and to the Mad-lover. 

(A) This etymology hath been objected to by a very inge- 
nious writer (see Malone's Shakesp. vol. i. pt. ii. p. 59), 
who thinks it questionable, because, in St. Mary's church 
at Cambridge, the area that is under the pulpit, and sur- 
rounded by the galleries, is (now J called the pit ; which, Jie 
says, no one can suspect to have been a cock-pit, or that a 
playhouse phrase could be applied to a church. — But who- 
ever is acquainted with the licentiousness of boys, will not 
think it impossible that they should thus apply a name so 
peculiarly expressive of its situation : which from frequent 
use might at length prevail among the senior members of 
the university; especially when those young men became 
seniors themselves. The name of pit, so applied at Cam- 
bridge, must be deemed to have been a cant phrase, until it 
can be shown that the area in other churches was usually so 
called. 

(I) So Ste. Gosson, in his Schoole of Abuse, 1579, 12mo, 
speaking of the players, says, " These, because they are al- 
lowed to play every Sunday, make iiii or v. Sundayes at 
least every week, fol. 24. — So the author of a Second and 
Third Blast of Retrait from Plaies, 1580, 12mo. " Let the 
magistrate but repel them from the libertie of plaeing on the 
Sabboth-daie. ... To plaie on the Sabboth is but a privi- 
lege of sufferance, and might with ease be repelled, were it 
thoroughly followed." pag. 61,62. So again, " Is not the 
Sabboth of al other daies the most abused i . . . Wherefore 
abuse not so the Sabboih-daie, my brethren ; leave not the 
temple of the Lord." . . . . " Those unsaverie morsels of 
unseemelie sentences passing out of the mouth of a ruffenlie 
plaier, doth more content the hungrie humors of the rude 
multitude, and carrieth better i ellish in their mouthes, than 
the hread of the worde, &c." Vid. pag. 63, 65, 69, &c. I 
do not recollect that exclammations of this kind occur in 
Frynne, whence I conclude that this enormity no longer 
subsisted in his time. 

It should al o seem, from the author of the Third Blast 
above quoted, that the churches still continued to be used 
occasionally for theatres. Thus, in p. 77, he says, that the 
[ layers, (who, as hath been observed, were servants of the 
i obility,) " under the title of their maisters, or as reteiners, 
are priviledged to roave abroad, and permitted to publish 
their mametree in everie temple of God, and that through- 
out England, unto the horrible contempt of praier." 

(m) "He entertaines us" (says Overbury in his character 
(fan Actor) " in the best leasure of our life, that is, betweene 
,n eales ; the most unfit time either for study, or bodily ex- 
cise." — Even so late as in the reign of Cha. II, Plays 
f euerally began at 3 in the afternoon. 

(n) See Biogr. Brit. i. 117, n. D. 

(o) 1 say " no English Actress — on the public stage," be- 
cause Prynne speaks <>f it as an unusual enormity, that 
" they had French-wom*n actors in a play not long since 
personated in Blackfriars Playhouse." This was in 1629, 
\id. page 215. And though female parts were performed b~ 
nen or boys on the public stage, yet in masques at couit, 



Lastly, with regard to the playhouse furniture 
and ornaments, a writer of King Charles the Second's 
time(/)), who well remembered the preceding age, 
assures us, that in general "they had no other scenes 
nor decorations of the stage, but only old tapestry, 
and the stage strewed with rushes, with habits ac- 
cordingly (q)." 

Yet Coryate thought our theatrical exhibitions, 
&c. splendid when compared with what he saw 
abroad. Speaking of the theatre for comedies at 
Venice, he says, "The house is very beggarly and 
base, in comparison of our stately playhouses in 
England: neyther can their actors compare with 
ours for apparrell, shewes, and musicke. Here I 
observed certaine things that I never saw before : 
for I saw women act, a thing that I never saw 
before, though I have heard that it hath been some- 
times used in London : and they performed it with 
as good a grace, action, gesture, and whatsoever 
convenient for a player, as ever 1 saw any masculine 
actor(?-)-" 

It ought, however, to be observed, that, amid such 
a multitude of playhouses as subsisted in the Me- 
tropolis before the Civil Wars, there must have 
been a great difference between their several accom- 
modations, ornaments, and prices ; and that some 
would be much more showy than others, though 
probably all were much inferior in splendour to the 
two great theatres after the Restoration. 

* # * The preceding Essay, although some of the 
materials are new arranged, hath received no alte- 
ration deserving notice, from what it was in the 
Second edition, 1767, except in Section iv, which in 
the present impression hath been much enlarged. 

This is mentioned, because, since it was first pub- 
lished, the Histoiy of the English Stage hath been 
copiously handled by Mr. Thomas Warton in his 
" History of English Poetry, 1774, &c." 3 vols. 4to. 
(wherein is inserted whatever in these volumes fell 
in with his subject) ; and by Edmond Malone, Esq. 
who, in his " Historical Account of the English 
Stage," (Shakesp. vol. i, pt. ii, 1790,) hath added 
greatly to our knowledge of the economy and usages 
of our ancient theatres. 

the queen and her ladies made no scruple to perform the 
principal parts, especially in the reigns of James I. and 
Charles I. 

Sir William Davenant, after the B.estoration, introduced 
women, scenery, and higher prices. See Cibber's Apology 
for his own Life. 

(p) See a short Discourse on the English Stage, subjoined to 
Flecknor's " Love's Kingdom," 1674, 12mo. 

(q) It appears from an Epigram of Taylor the Water-poet, 
that one of the principal Theatres in his time, viz. The Globe 
on the Bankside, Souihwark, (which Ben Jonson calls the 
Glory of the Bank, and Fort of the whole parish,) had been 
covered with thatch till it was burnt down in 1813. — (See 
Taylor's Sculler, Epig. 22, p. 31. Jonson's Execration on 
Vulcan. 

Puttenham tells us they used Vizards in his time, " partly 
to supply the want of players, when there were more parts 
than there were persons, or that it was not thought meet to 
trouble., princes chambers with too many folkes." Art of 
Eng. Poes. 1589, p. 26. From the last clause, it should 
seem that they were chiefly used in the Masques at Court. 
(r) Coryate's Crudities, 4to, 1611, p. 247. 






ADAM BELL, CLYM OF I HE CLOUGH, 



ADAM BELL, i LYM Of THE CLOUGII, AM) WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY, 



— Ml in 

lOUfl in tlie 

,is fellows 

Their place of reai- 

od, not far from 

corruptly in the ballad Knglish- 

nifies wood 

• time they lived does not 

r of the common ballad on "The 

lucation, and man I ibin I food," 

ntemporary with Robin Hood's 

• ■ li tm the honour of beating 

VIZ. 

Robin a forrestor was, 
i lustv long-bow 
•i.-couutrv milefl and an inch at a shot, 
Wakefield dues know : 

I Mrll. and (Mini of tin- Clough, 

W illiam ■ Clow.! 
with our Forester tor forty mark ; 

• r heat them all three. 

" i vol. p. 67. 

that they were commonly 
lived before the popular hero of 

* 

m rtheni arc hers wen not unknown to their 

mtrymen: fair excellence atthelong- 

bj our ancient poets. Shaks- 

Mocfa tdoe about nothing," 

e confirm his resolves of not 

protestation, "If 1 do, bang 

I • l Cat , and ihoot :.i me and he 

lei him be clap! on the shoulder, and 
• ' ." meauii obald 

■ nrte, \s ho ■ • or two other 

■ i rem be is mentioned, 
well conjectured, that 
and Juliet, ad ii. so. I , 

■ allusion to our archer. 

ai d ( Km o' theClough in bis 

Sir \\ illiam Davenant, 

oation 

. ! proctors, 

Kinsbury fields. 

^ l ' 1 ' ! • jrde t : 

• pride ..... 
I ('lymme. 
I shool al him. 

Wo . 'I. 

the prin- 
I, that the I noted 



* 






i 
■ II .. divcnloQ 

• Into,.. I,.,l| 
•1"» i I 

■« III... .1, K 

« ■ ' ! "|x'.l tin ... 

•lull... 



Lord William Howard to some of the officers of 
state, wherein lie mentions them. 

As for the following stanzas, which will be judged 
from the style, orthography, and numbers, to be of 
considerable antiquity, they were here given (cor- 
rected in some places by a MS. copy in the Editor's 
old folio) from a black-letter 4to. Imprinted at London 
in Lothburge by William Copland (no date). That 
old quarto edition seems to be exactly followed in 
" Pieces of Ancient Popular Poetry, &cc. Lond. 
1791," Ovo., the variations from which, that occur 
in the following copy, are selected from many others 
in the folio MS. above mentioned, and when dis- 
tinguished by the usual inverted 'comma' have been 
assisted by conjecture. 

In the same MS. this ballad is followed by another, 
entitled Younge Cloudeslee, being a continuation of 
the present story, and reciting the adventures of Wil- 
liam of Cloudesly's son : but greatly inferior to this 
both in merit and antiquity. 

PART THE riRST. 

Msni it was in the grene forest 

Anionge the leves grene, 
Whereas men hunt east and west 

Wyth bowes and arrowes kene ; 

To raise the dere out of theyr denne ; 5 

Suche sightes hath ofte bene sene ; 

As by thre yemen of the north countrey, 
Jk them it is I meane. 

The one of them hight Adam Bel, 

The other Clym of tlie Clough* 
The thud was William of Cloudeslv, 

An archer good ynough. 

They were outlawed for venyson, 
I hese j emen everychone ; 

They swore them brethren upon I day 

To Engiyshe wood for to gone. 

Now lith and lvsten, gontvhnen. 

I bei of myrthes loveth to here : 
Two of them were single men, 

The third had a wedded fere. 

Wvllyam was the wedded man, 
Muche more than was hys care : 

He sayde to hys brethren upon a day, 
To Carleile he would fare, 

I or to spoke with ftyre Alyce his wife, 

\nd with his chvhlreu tlire. 

Bj my trouth, sayae Adam Bel, 

Not by the counsell of me: 

<> to Carlile, brother, 
tad from thys wylde wode wende, 
1 1' that the justice may you tako, 
N our i\ ie were at an ende. 



W 



\ . '2 1. Carrie!, in I»C. passim. 
Clem. " 
North. 



• Clym of the Clough means Clem, rc'lementl of the 
« mi : i.. i io ( lough ilgniflci in ih *" 



AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY. 


41 


If that I come not to-morowe, brother, 

By pryme to you agayne, 
Truste you then that I am ' taken,' 85 

Or else that I am slayne. 


Alyce opened a backe wyndowe, 

And loked all aboute, 
She was ware of the justice and shirife bothe 

Wyth a full great route. 


»i> 


He toke hys leave of hys brethren two, 

And to Carlile he is gon : 
There he knocked at his owne windowe 

Shortlye and anone. 40 


Alas ! treason, cryed Alyce, 

Ever wo may thou be ! 
Goe into my chamber, my husband, she sayd 

Swete Wyllyam of Cloudeslee. 


90 


Wher be you, fayre Alyce, he sayd, 
My wife and chyldren three ? 

Lyghtly let in thyne owne husbande, 
Wyllyam of Cloudeslee. 


He toke hys sweard and hys bucler, 
Hys bow and hys chyldren thre, 

And wente into hys strongest chamber, 
Where he thought surest to be. 


95 


Alas ! then sayde fayre Alyce, 45 

And syghed wonderous sore, 
Thys place hath ben besette for you 

Thys halfe a yere and more. 


Fayre Alyce, like a lover true, 
Took a pollaxe in her hande : 

Said, He shall dye that cometh in 
Thys dore, whyle I may stand. 


100 


Now am I here, sayde Cloudeslee, 

I would that in I were. 50 
Now fetche us meate and drynke ynoughe, 

And let us make good chere. 


Cloudeslee ben to a right good bo we. 

That was of a trusty tre, 
He smot the justice on the brest, 

That hys arowe burst in three. 




She fetched hym meate and drynke plentye, 

Lyke a true wedded wyfe ; 
And pleased hym with that she had, 55 

Whome she loved as her lyfe. 


' A ' curse on his harte, saide William, 
Thys day thy cote dyd on ! 

If it had ben no better then myne, 
It had gone nere thy bone. 


105 


There lay an old wyfe in that place, 

A lytle besyde the fyre, 
Whych Wyllyam had found of charytye 

More than seven yere. 60 


Yelde tne Cloudesle, sayd the justise, 
And thy bowe and thy arrowes the fro. 

' A' curse on hys hart, sayd fair Alyce, 
That my husband councelleth so. 


110 


Up she rose, and forth shee goes, 
Evill mote shee speede therfore ; 

For shee had sett no foote on ground 
In seven yere before. 


Set fyre on the house, saide the sherife, 

Syth it wyll no better be, 
And brenne we therin William, he saide, 

Hys wife and chyldren thre. 


115 


She went unto the justice hall, 6b 

As fast as she could hye : 
Thys night, shee sayd, is come to town 

Wyllyam of Cloudeslye. 


They fyred the house in many a place, 

The fyre flew up on hye ; 
Alas! then cryed fayre Alice, 

I se we here shall dye. 


120 


Thereof the justice was full fayne, 

And so was the shirife also : 70 
Thou shalt not trauaile hither, dame, for nought, 

Thy meed thou shalt have ere thou go. 


William openyd a backe wyndow, 
That was in hys chamber hie, 

And there with sheetes he did let downe 
His wife and children three. 




They gave to her a ryght good goune, 

Of scarlate, ' and of graine :' 
She toke the gyft, and home she wente, 75 

And couched her doune agayne. 


Have you here my treasure, sayde William, 
My wyfe and my chyldren thre : 

For Christes love do them no harme, 
But wreke you all on me. 


125 


They raysed the towne of mery Carleile 

In all the haste they can ; 
And came thronging to Wyllyames house, 

As fast as they might gone. 80 


Wyllyam shot so wonderous well, 
Tyll hys arrowes were all agoe, 

And the fyre so fast upon hym fell, 
That hys bowstryng brent in two. 


130 


There they besette that good yeman 
Round about on every syde : 

Wyllyam hearde great noyse of folkes, 
That thither-ward fast hyed. 


The sparkles brent and fell upon 
Good Wyllyam of Cloudesle : 

Than was he a wofull man, and sayde, 
Thys is a cowardes death to me. 

V. 85, sic. MS. shop window, PC. 


l3o 


V. 35. take, PC. tane. MS. 






IDAM !■! i I . < LYM el UN: CLOl OH, 



I 



; uckler, 






II. 



moat in preoe, 



l io 



i ;.) 



150 



ii be nm : 

| d 'lores on liiia 

. Nelll.lli. 

mdfl both hand md fote, 
ingeoo liim east : 
the justice, 
J boa .shah be hanged in bast 

j d the sherife, 
ibal I tor thee make ;' 

< larleil Bhal be Bhutte : 
ae in therat. 



ill not helpe Clym of the Cloughe, 
ill Adam Bell, 

i thousand mo, 

• Ifl in hell. 160 

1 i iIm* mornynge the justice uprose, 

- 
tunded to !><• Bhul full cl 

■ . ■ r\ chone. 

• tbe market! place, 16.'> 

tide bye ; 

illowes he stt uj> 
de tin- pyll 

og then laked,' 
w bat moaned thai gallows ito 

■ man, 

De-heard, 

W illr.im in the wodde, 175 

thereto dyne. 

■ wall, 

tie ; 

i men 

180 

sth. 









icn, it. 



II.- myght bare dwelt in greene foreste, 

r the shadowes greene, 190 

bare kept.- both hym and us att reste, 
Out of all trouble and teene. 

Adam bent a ryght good bow, 

A great hart Bone bee bad slayne ; 
Take that, divide, he sayde, to thy dynner, 195 
And bring me myne arrowe agayne. 

Now go we hence, sayed these wightye yeomen, 

Tarrve wo no longer here ; 
We shall hym borowe by God his grace, 

Though we buy itt full dere. 200 

To Caerleil wente these bold yemen, 
All in ;i mornyng of maye. 

Here is a fyt* of Cloudeslye, 
And another is for to saye. 

TART THE SECOND. 

And when they came to mery Carleile, 

All in 'the' mornyng tyde, 
They founde the gates shiut them untyll 

About on every syde. 

Alas ! then sayd good Adam Bell, 5 

That ever we were made men ! 
These gates be shut so wonderous fast, 

We may not come therein. 

Then bespake him Clym of the Clough, 

Wyth a wvle we wyl us in bryng ; 10 

Let us saye we be messengers, 

btreygbt come nowe from our king. 

Adam said, I have a letter written, 

Now let us wvselv werke, 
\\ e wyl save we have the kynges seale ; 15 

1 holde the porter no clerke. 

Then Adam Hell bete on the gates 
With Btrokes meat and stronge : 

The porter marvelled, who was therat, 

And to the gates hi' thronge. 20 

Who is there now, sayde the porter. 

That maketh all tbvs knoekinge ! 
\\ e l.e low messengers, quoth ( Ivmof the Clough, 
He come ryghl from our kvng. 

We have a letter, savd Adam Bel, 25 

To the justice we must itt bryngj 
Lei us in ..in- messsage to do, 

'I hat we were aga\ ne to the kyng, 

II. re OOmmetb none in, savd the porter, 

Bj h\ in that iKed on a tre, 30 

T\ II a false thefe' he hanged. 

Called Wyllyam ofCloudesle. 

Then spake the good yeman Clym of the Clough, 

And BWOre l>\ .Mary ire, 
And if that we stande long wythout, 35 

Is ke a ih, fe hanged shalt thou be. 



\ ■ 190. -,. MS. (hiidowea sheene, PC— V. 197, iolly yco- 
bm ii, MS. wight >un- men, PC. 

• S.r GlOBS. 



AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY. 



43 



Lo ! here we have the kynges seale : 

What, Lurden, art thou wode ? 
The porter went* it had been so, 

And lyghtly dyd off hys hode. 40 

Welcome is my lordes seale, he saide ; 

For that ye shall come in. 
He opened the gate full shortlye : 

An euyl openyng for him. 

Now are we in, sayde Adam Bell, 45 

Wherof we are full faine ; 
But Christ he knowes, that harowed hell, 

How we shall com out agayne. 

Had we the keys, said Clirn of the Clough, 

Ryght wel then shoulde we spede, 50 

Then might we come out wel ynough 
When we se tyme anfl nede. 

They called the porter to counsell, 

And wrang his necke in two, 
And caste hym in a depe dungeon, 5") 

And toke hys keys hym fro. 

Now am I porter, sayd Adam Bel, 

Se brother the keys are here, 
The worst porter to merry Carleile 

That ' the' had thys hundred yere. 60 

And now wyll we our bowes bend, 

Into the towne wyll we go, 
For to delyuer our dere brother, 

That lveth in care and wo. 

Then they bent theyr good ewe bowes, 05 

And loked theyr stringes were roundf, 

The markett place in mery Carleile 
They beset that stound. 

And, as they loked them besyde, 

A paire of new galowes ' they' see, 70 

And the justice with a quest of squyers, 

That judged William hanged to be. 

And Cloudesle lay ready there in a cart, 

Fast bound both fote and hand ; 
And a stronge rop about hys necke, 75 

All readye for to hange. 

The justice called to hym a ladde, 
Cloudeslees clothes hee shold have, 

To take the measure of that yemiin, 

Therafter to make hys grave. 80 

I have sene as great mervaile, said Cloudesle, 

As betweyne thys and pryme, 
He that maketh a grave for mee, 

Hymselfe may lye therin. 



V. Lordeyne, PC. 

* i. e. weened, thought, (which last is the reading of the 
folio MS.)— Calais, or Rouen, was taken from the English 
by showing the governor, who could not read, a letter with 
the king's seal, which was all he looked at. 

+ So Ascham in his Toxophilus gives a precept ; " The 
atringe must be roundf ;" (p. 149, ed. 1761.) otherwise, we 
may conclude from mechanical principles, the arrow will not 
fly tiue. 



Thou speakest proudlye, said the justice, 85 

I will thee hange with my hande. 
Full wel herd this his brethren two, 

There styll as they dyd stande. 

Then Cloudesle cast his eyen asyde, 

And saw hys ' brethren twaine 90 

At a corner of the market place, 

Redy the justice for to slaine. 

I se comfort, sayd Cloudesle, 

Yet hope I well to fare, 
If I might have my handes at wyll 95 

Ryght lytle wolde I care, 

Then spake good Adam Bell 

To Clym of the Clough so free, 
Brother, se you marke the justyce wel , 

Lo ! yonder you may him se : 100 

And at the shyrife shote I wyll 

Strongly wyth an arrowe kene j 
A better shote in mery Carleile 

Thys seven yere was not sene. 

They loosed their arrowes both at once, 1 05 

Of no man had they dread ; 
The one hyt the justice, the other the sheryfe, 

That both theyr sides gan blede. 

All men voyded ; that them stode nye, 

When the justice fell to the grounde, 110 

And the sherife nye him by ; 
Eyther had his deathes wounde. 

All the citezens fast gan flye, 

They durst no longer abyde : 
There lyghtly they losed Cloudeslee, 115 

Where he with ropes lay tyde. 

Wyllyam start to an officer of the towne, 
Hys axe ' from' hys hand he wronge, 

On eche syde he smote them downe, 

Hee thought he taryed to long. 120 

Wyllyam sayde to his brethren two, 

Thys daye let us lyve and die, 
If ever you have nede, as I have now, 

The same shall you finde by me. 

They shot so well in that tyde, 125 

Theyr stringes were of silke ful sure, 

That they kept the stretes on every side - y 
That batayle did long endure. 

They fought together as brethren true, 

Lyke hardy men and bolde, 130 

Many a man to the ground they threw 
And many a herte made colde. 

But when their arrowes were all gon, 

Men preced to them full fast, 
They drew theyr swordes then an one, 135 

And theyr bowes from them cast. 

They went lyghtlye on theyr way, 

Wyth swordes and buclers round ; 
By that it was mydd of the day, 

They made many a wound. 14C 

V. 105,lowsed thre, PC— Ver 108. can bled. MS. 



41 



Al»\M l.l.l I . CLYM OF llll. (I 01 (.11, 



blowen, 
I tli.- boDes bteW ir«l <l\d r\ 
t» woman - i 

- 

11.5 
\\\il 

i h\ ill hill 

:-• in greet 

\\ itli ■ ( \ s bands ; 130 

n wyth linn was, 
ode. 

• 1 4 eel e ^^ it h bis bil, 
il\ - bocler be brast in two, 

i I . in. hi with gr oa t evyH, 155 

ion they cryed for wo. 
it, they bad, 
.• these tr ay toura tberout not go. 

Gar nought was that they wrought, 

■ • were layde, 160 

T\ll thej all thre, that so inanfulii fought, 

Were gotten without, abraide. 

\dam Bel, 
• I here forsake, 
And yfyoo do by my counsel! loo 

■ tec do ye make* 

He threw theyr keys at theyr heads, 
bad them well to thryref, 
that letteth any good yeman 
one and comfort his wyfe. i?o 

■ I yeman pon to the wod, 
• on lynde ; 
• mery m theyr mode, 
: rr behynd. 

. she wode, i?;> 

• r the trust. 

found bowee full good, 
(bll great pta 

Id mii Bell, 

■ ■ .-i' theClougb -,, tr... i8o 

I 
lye, 

md made g 1 ohere, 

in. I drinks Cull well 

veomen: 185 

i :i. 



HI! I IN IIP. 



. Iffl 

i rth ui 



Serf then Byghed the favre Alyce. 5 

' That ever 1 sawe thvs (lav ! ' 

For nowe is my dere husband slayne. 
Alas ! and wel-a-way ! 

Myght I have spoken wyth hys dere brethren, 
Or with eyther of them twayne, 20 

To show them what him befell, 
My hart were out of payne. 

Cloudesle walked a lytle beside, 

He looked under the grene wood lynde, 

He was ware of his wife, and chyldren three, 15 
Full wo in harte and mynde. 

Welcome, wyfe, then sayde Wyllyam, 

Under * this ' trusti tre : 
I had wende yesterday, by swete saynt John, 

Thou sholdest me never ' have ' se. 20 

" Now well is me that ye be here, 

My harte is out of wo." 
Dame, he sayde, be mery and glad, 

And thanke my brethren two. 

Herof to speake, said Adam Bell, 

1-wis it is no bote : 
The meate, that we must supp withall, 

It runneth yet fast on fote. 

Then went they downe into a launde, 

These noble archares all thre ; 
Eche of them slew a hart of greece, 

The best that they coldse. 

Have here the best, Alyce, my wyfe, 

Sayde Wyllyam of Cloudeslye ; 
By cause ye so bouldly stode by me 

\\ hen 1 was slayne full nye. 

Then went they to suppere 

Wyth suche meate as they bad ; 
And thanked God of ther fortune : 

They were both mery and glad. 

And when they had supped well, 

Certayne withouten lease, 
Cloudesle sayd. We wvll to our kyng, 

To get us a charter of peace. 

Alyce shal be at our sojournyng 
In a nunnery here besyde; 

My tow sonnes shall wyth her go, 
And there they shall abyde. 

Mvne eldest son shall go wyth me J 
For hyin have ' you ' no rare : 

And he shall bring you words agayn, 

I low that we do i'aiv. 
I hus he these yemen to London gone, 

As last as they myght ' he'*, 
Tj II they came to the kynges pallaee, 

W here they woulde nodes he. 
An. I whan they came to the kynges courte, 

1 i"o the pallace gate, 

Ofno man wold they asko no leave, 

I'"" boldly went in therat. 



25 



3,1 



35 



40 



45 



50 



CO 



N • '■". '>■ \. i had le, i'c. ., 



'• ""I ^'S. — V. 50, have I nocaie,PC. 
'■ >■ in.' hasten. 



AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY. 


4j 


They preced prestly into the hall, 

Of no man had they dreade : 
The porter came after, and dyd them call, 

And with them began to chyde. 


Then, good my lord, I you beseche, 

These yemen graunt ye me. 
Madame, ye myght have asked a boone, 

That shuld have been worth them all thre. 


120 


The usher sayde, Yemen, what wold ye have 1 65 

I pray you tell to me : 
You myght thus make offycers shent* 

Good syrs, of whence be ye? 


Ye myght have asked towres, and townes, 

Parkes and forestes plente. 
None soe pleasant to my pay, shee sayd ; 

Nor none so lefe to me. 




Syr, we be out-lawes of the forest 

Certayne withouten lease ; 70 
And hether we be come to the kyng, 

To get us a charter of peace. 


Madame, sith it is your desyre, 
Your askyng graunted shal be ; 

But I had lever have given you 
Good market townes thre. 


125 


And whan they came before the kyng, 

As it was the lawe of the lande, 
The kneled downe without lettyng, 75 

And eche held up his hand. 


The quene was a glad woman, 
And sayde, Lord, gramarcy ; 

I dare undertake for them, 
That true men shal they be. 


130 


The sayed, Lord, we Beseche the here, 

That ye wyll graunt us grace ; 
For we have slayne your fat falow dere 

In many a sondry place. JBO 


But, good my lord, speke som mery word, 

That comfort they may se. 
I graunt you grace, then sayd our king ; 

Washe, felos, and to meate go ye. 


135 


What be your nams, then said our king, 

Anone that you tell me? 
They sayd, Adam Bell, Clim of the Clough, 

And Wyllyam of Cloudesle 


They had not setten but a whyle 

Certayne without lesynge, 
There came messengers out of the north 

With letters to our kyng. 


140 


Be ye those theves, then sayd our kyng, 85 

That men have tolde of to me ? 
Here to God I make an avowe, 

Ye shal be hanged al thre. 


And whan the came before the kynge, 
They knelt downe on theyr kne ; 

And sayd, Lord, your officers grete you well 
Of Carleile in the north cuntre. 




Ye shal be dead without mercy, 

As I am kynge of this lande. 90 
He commanded his officers everichone, 

Fast on them to lay hande. 


How fareth my justice, sayd the kyng, 

And my sherife also 1 
Syr, they be slayne without leasynge, 

And many an officer mo. 


145 


There they toke these good yemen, 

And arested them al thre : 
So may I thryve, sayd Adam Bell, 90 

Thys game lyketh not me. 


Who hath them slayne ? sayd the kyng ; 

Anone that thou tell me. 
" Adam Bell, and Clime of the Clough, 

And Wyllyam of Cloudesle." 


156 


But, good lorde, we beseche vou now, 

That yee graunt us grace, 
Insomuche as ' frely ' we be to you come, 

' As frely ' we may fro you passe, 100 


Alas, for rewth ! then sayd our kynge : 
My hart is wonderous sore ; 

I had lever than a thousande pounde, 
I had knowne of thys before j 


155 


With such weapons, as we have here, 
Tyll we be out of vour place ; 

And yf we ly ve this hundreth yere, 
We wyll aske you no grace. 


For I have graunted them grace, 
And that forthynketh me : 

But had I knowne all thys before, 
They had been hanged all thre. 


160 


Ye speake proudly, sayd the kynge ; 105 

Ve shall be hanged all thre. 
That were great pitye, then sayd the quene, 

If any grace myght be. 


The kyng hee opened the letter anone/ 

Himselfe he red it thro, 
And founde how these outlawes had slain 

Thre hundred men and mo : 




My lorde, whan I came fyrst into this lande 

To be your wedded wyfe, 1 1 

The fyrst boone that I wold aske, 
Ye would graunt it me belyfe : 


Fyrst the justice, and the sheryfe, 
And the mayre of Carleile towne ; 

Of all the constables and catchipolles 
Alyve were ' scant' left one : 


165 


And I asked you never none tyll now ; 

Therefore, good lorde, graunt it me. 
Now aske it, madam, sayd the kynge, 115 

And graunted it shal be. 


The baylyes, and the bedyls both, 
And the sergeauntes of the law, 

And forty fosters of the fe, 
These outlawes had yslaw : 


170 


V. 130, God a mercye, MS — V. 168, left but one 
not one. PC. 


MS. 


V. Ill, 119, sic MS. bowne. PC. 



ADAM Bl i I < I VM OF Tin: CLOUGH, 



S 
u . 

.• tin-, latter had n 

ban 

. :h li\ tn to - 

In the ix-rtli have m roughl :i 

..•n boake them blyre, 
lueses irohen also ; 
. d thaaa thre e \ gbte yemen ; 

\\ ten than they thought to go. 

■. nr thrvse they shote about 
iv theyr hande ; 
•• was no shots these yemen Bhot, 

.• any prycke* niyght staiul. 

i loudesle ; 
bim that for me dyed, 

h\ urn iii-viT no good arclinr, 

■ -i: ;.- buttea bo wyde. 
• \- wold ye ah 

line ti 11 to inc. 

Snt, svr, he aayd, 
■ in my countree. 

W \ 11\ am irente into a fyeld, 

with him 1 his two brethren : 
• t u j> two hasell roddea 
j u twene. 

Id him an archer, said Cloudesle, 
* an.lr cleveth in tw o. 
Hera i 1 the k\ ug, 

. ( .111 Ml dO. 

■ JO. 
1 n i'Ii a bearyng arowe 

the wand in two* 

bar, then raid die Ling, 

' \\ \ll\am, 



i; i 



im> 



13! 



190 



1 95 



200 



205 



Cl.'> 



I h»ro i 

I w\ll ) 
All kl 









• • 4 II I iu, P( . 



Now haste flbe, then aayd die kyng, '-'•:.■» 

By In in that dyed on a tre, 
Bui vt' thou do not, as thou hest sayde, 

Hanged shah thou be. 

And thou touche his head or gowne, 

In ayght that men may se, 250 

J!v all the sayntes that be in heaven, 

I shall bangs you all thre. 

That I have promised, said William, 

That 1 wyll never forsake. 
And there even before the kynge 235 

In the earth he drove a stake : 

And bound therto his eldest sonne, 

Aud bad bvm stand styll thereat ; 
And turned the childes face him fro, 

Because he should not start. 240 

An apple upon his head he set, 

And then his bowe he bent : 
Svxe score paces they were meaten, 

And thether Cloudesle went. 

There he drew out a fayr brode arrowe, '-' 15 

Ilvs bowe was great and longe, 
He set that arrowe in his bowe, 

That was both styffe and stronge. 

lie prayed the people, that wer there, 

That they ' all still wold' stand, 250 

For he that shoteth for such a wager 

Behoveth a stedfast hand. 

Muche people prayed for Cloudesle, 

That his lyfe saved mygbt be, 
And whan he made hym redy to shote, 25.1 

There was many weeping ee. 

' But ' Cloudesle clefte the apple in two 

• His sonnie he did not nee.' 
Over Goda forbode, sayde f he kinge, 

That thou shold shote at me. 2ti0 

I geve thee eightene pence a day, 

And my bowe shalt thou her,', 
And over all the nortti countre 
I make the chyfe rvdrro. 

And I thyrtene pence a day, said the queue, 2G5 

By God, and by my fey ; 
Come fechethv paymenl when thou wylt, 

No man shall say the nay. 

\\ \ llyam, I make the a gentleman 

< n clothyng, and of fe : 27 

And thy two brethren, yemen of my chambre, 

For they are so semely to so. 

i our sonne, for be is tend re of age, 
i m' nay w\ ae-sSller he Bhall bs ; 

An. I w hen he conuneth to mans estate, 275 

Better avaunoed shall he be. 



\ 1 i M3, ilo MS. out met. PC— Ver. '252, steedyi 
Lnd I gevi the wij pence, !'('. 



THE AGED LOVER RENOUNCETH LOVE. 



47 



And, Wylly am, bring me your wife, said the quene, 

Me longeth her sore to se : 
She shall be my chefe gentlewoman, 

To governe my nurserye. 280 

The yemen thanked them all curteously. 

To some byshop wyl we wend, 
Of all the synnes, that we have done, 

To be assoyld at his hand. 



So forth he gone these good yemen, 285 

As fast as they might ' lie*' ; 
And after came and dwelled with the kynge, 

And dyed good men all thre. 

Thus endeth the lives of these good yemen ; 

God send them eternall blysse ; 290 

And all, that with a hand-bowe shoteth : 

That of heven may never mysse. A men. 



II. 
THE AGED LOVER RENOUNCETH LOVE. 



The grave-digger's song in Hamlet, act v. is 
from three stanzas of the following poem, 



taken 
though 
greatly altered and disguised, as the same were cor- 
rupted by the ballad-sinoers of Shakespeare's time : 
or perhaps so designed by the poet himself, the bet- 
ter to suit the character of an illiterate clown. The 
original is preserved among Surrey's Poems, and is 
attributed to Lord Vaux, by George Gascoigne, who 
tells us, it " was thought by some to be made upon 
his death-bed ;" a popular error which he laughs at. 
(See his Epist. to Yong Gent, prefixed to his Posies, 
1575, 4to.) It is also ascribed to Lord Vaux in a 
manuscript copy preserved in the British Museum*. 
This lord was remarkable for his skill in drawing 
feigned manners, &c. for so I understand an ancient 
writer. " The Lord Vaux his commendation lyeth 
chiefly in the facilitie of his meetre, and the aptnesse 
of his descriptions such as he taketh upon him to 
make, namely in sundry of his songs, wherein he 
showeth the counterfait action very lively and plea- 
santly." Arte of Eng. Poesie, 1589, p. 51. See 
another song by this poet in Series the Second, 
No. VIII. 

I loth that I did love, 

In youth that I thought swete, 
As time requires : for my behove 

Me thinkes they are not mete. 

My lustes they do me leave, 5 

My fansies all are fled ; 
And tract of time begins to weave 

Gray heares upon my hed. 

For Age with steling steps 

Hath clawde me with his crowch, 10 

And lusty ' Youthe' awaye he leapes, 

As there had bene none such. 

My muse doth not delight 

Me, as she did before: 
My hand and pen are not in plight, 15 

As they have bene of yore. 

For Reason me denies, 

' All' youthly idle rime ; 
And day by day, to me she cries, 

Leave off these toyes in tyme. 20 

Ver. 282, And sayd to some Bishopp wee will wend, MS. 
Ver. 6, be PC. [printed cn>v in 1557.]— V. 10. Crowch per- 
haps should be clouch, clutch, grasp. — V. 11, Lifeawav she 
PC— V. 18, This P.C. ' 

* Harl. MSS. num. 1703. § 25. The readings gathered 
from that copy are disHnguished here by inverted commas. 
The text is printed from the " Songs, &c. of tlie Earl of 
Surrey and others, 1557, 4to. 



The wrinkles in my brow, 

The furrowes in my face 
Say, Limping age will ' lodge' him now, 

YVhere youth must geve him place. 

The harbenger of death, 25 

To me I se him ride, 
The cousih, the cold, the gasping breath, 

Doth bid me to provide 

A pikeax and a spade, 

And eke a shrowding shete, 30 

A house of clay for to be made 

For such a guest most mete. 

Me thinkes I heare the clarke, 

That knoles the carefull knell ; 
And bids me leave my ' weary e' warke, 35 

Ere nature me compell. 

My kepersf knit the knot, 

That youth doth laugh to scorne, 
Of me that ' shall bee cleane' forgot, 

As I had ' ne'er' bene borne. 40 

Thus must I youth geve up, 

Whose badge I long did weare : 
To them I yeld the wanton cup, 

That better may it beare. 

Lo here the bared skull ; 45 

By whose balde signe I know, 
That stouping age away shall pull 

' What' youthful yeres did sow. 

For Beautie with her band, 

These croked cares had wrought, 50 

And shipped me into the land, 

From whence I first was brought. 

And ye that bide behinde, 

Have ye none other trust : 
As ye of claye were cast by kinde, 55 

So shall ye ' turne' to dust. 

Ver. 23, So Ed. 1583 ; 'tis hedge in Ed. 1557. hath caught 
him MS.— V. 30, wyndynge-sheete. MS —V. 34, bell. MS.— 
V. 35, wofull. PC— V. 38, did PC— V. 39, clene shal be. 
PC— V. 40, not PC— V. 45, bare-hedde. MS. and some 
PCC— V. 48, Which. PC— That MS. What is conject.-* 
V. 56. wast. PC. 

* he i. e. hie, hasten. See the Glossary 

t Alluding perhaps to Eccles. xii. '£. 



M 



A uoitVN JOLLY Koin V 



III. 
JEPHTHAH JUDGE OF ISRAEL. 



fa Shakespeare's Hamlet, id iL the hero of the 

pUy tokos occasion to banter Polonina with some 

a of in «'kl ballad, which has oarer appeared 

. oUectioo : for irhiefa reason, a^ it is but 

. h will not perhaps be unacceptable to the 

reader ; who erill also be direrted with the pleasant 

abfturiliri<-N . t" the composition. It was retrieved 

oblrrion by i lady, who arrote it down 

. the had formerly beard it sane by 

indebted fox it tu the friendship of 

It h I, that the original ballad, in black- 

. ia among Anthony u Wood's Collections in 

Museum. But, upon application 

made, the volume which contained this song 

that it can only now be given as in 

ner edition. 

banter, of Hamlet ia aa follows: 

" Hamlet ' O Jeptha, Judge of Israel,' what a 
ire bedel tl i 

\\ bat i treasure had he, my lord ? 
•• linn. \\ by, ' One mire daughter, and no more, 
Mm- which be loved paining well.' 
■• Pefaa. Still on my daughter. 
" I: . \ not I i' th' right, old Jeptha? 

. If you call me Jeptha, my lord, I have a 
r. thai I love peaaing welL 
•• Ham. Nay, thai follows not. 

. W bat follows then, mv lord ? 
" Ham, Why, ' As by lot, God wot :' and then you 
'It ( ame I moat tike it was.' The 

: the pious Chanson will shew you more." 

Edit 1793, rol.xv. p. 133. 

• ard these many years ago, 
i was judge of [arael ! 
He bad one only daughter and no mo, 
■ in. h ha bred f—*"g well: 

is by lott, 5 

Qod 

t to ]IUS8, 

I there should he, 

: DjOM .should bt Ohooon chief but he. 10 

pointed judge, 
• the oompaui , 
i aolat 

i 



At his return 15 

To burn 
Tlie first live thing, 

# * • * 

That should meet with him then, 

Off his house, when he should return agen. 20 

It came to pass, the wars was oer, 

And he returned with victory; 
His dear and only daughter first of all 
Came to meet her father foremostly : 

And all the way, V."> 

She did play 
On tablet and pipe, 
Full many a stripe, 
With note so high. 
For joy that her father is come so nigh. S<1 

But when he saw his daughter dear 

Coming on most foremostlv, 
I le wrung his hands, and tore his hair, 
And cryed outmost piteously ; 

Oh ! it's thou, said he, 3.i 

That have brought me 
Low, 
And troubled me so, 
That 1 know not what to do. 

For I have made a vow, he sed, 

The which must be replenished : 40 

» » * * 

" What thou hast spoke 
Do not revoke : 
What thou hast said, 

Be not airraid ; 4."> 

Altho' it be I : 
Keep promises to Cod en high. 

But, dear father, grant me one request, 

1 hai I may go to the wilderness, 
Three months there with my friends to stay ; 50. 

There to bewail mv virginity ; 
And let there be, 
Said she, 
Bome two or three 

Ifoung maids with me." 5."i 

So he sent her away, 
for to mourn, for to mourn, till her dying day. 



IV. 



a ROB) N JOLLY ROBYN. 



. [■ ' ' introduces 

of the 

in an 

itted to the 



bgenioua and worthy possessor by a long line of 
most respectable ancestors. Of these only a small 
part bath been printed in the " Nugae Antiquae," 
I rola, Itmo; B work which the public impatiently 

w i iheS tO see continued. 



SONG TO THE LUTE IN MUSICKE. 



49 



The song is thus given by Shakespeare, act iv. sc. 
(Malone's edit. iv. 93.) 

Clown. " Hey Robin, jolly Robin." [singing.] 
" Tell me how thy lady does." 

Malvolio. Fool. 

Clown. " My lady is unkind, perdy." 

Malvolio. Fool. 

Clown. " Alas, why is she so V 

Malvolio. Fool, I say. 

Clown. " She loves another." — Who calls, ha 1 

Dr. Fanner has conjectured that the song should 
begin thus : 

" Hey, jolly Robin, tell to me 

How does thy lady do t 
My lady is unkind perdy — 

Alas, why is she so V 

But this ingenious emendation is now superseded by 
the proper readings of the old song itself, which is 
here printed from what ^appears the most ancient 
of Dr. Harrington's poetical MSS, and which has, 
therefore, been marked No. I. (scil. p. 68.) That 
volume seems to have been written in the reign of 
King Henry VIII, and as it contains many of the 
poems of Sir Thomas Wyat, hath had almost all the 
contents attributed to him by marginal directions 
written with an old but later hand, and not always 
rightly, as, I think, might be made appear by other 
;-ood authorities. Among the rest, this song is there 
attributed to Sir Thomas Wyat also ; but the dis- 
cerning reader will probably judge it to belong to a 
more obsolete writer. 

In the old MS. to the 3d and 5th stanzas is pre- 
fixed this title, Responce, and to the 4th and 6th, 
Le Plaintif ; but in the last instance so evidently 
wrong, that it was thought better to omit these titles, 



and to mark the changes of the dialogue by inverted 
commas. In other respects the MS. is strictly fol- 
lowed, except where noted in the margin — Yet the 
first stanza appears to be defective, and it should 
seem that a line is wanting, unless the four first 
words were lengthened in the tune. 

A Robyn, 

Jolly Robyn, 
Tell me how thy leman doeth, 

And thou shalt knowe of myn. 

" My lady is unkyinde perde." 

Alack ! why is she so ? h 

" She loveth an other better than me : 

And yet she will say no." 

I fynde no such doublenes : 

I fynde women true. 1 

My lady loveth me dowtles, 

And will change for no newe. 

" Thou art happy while that doeth last ; 

But I say, as I fynde, 
That women's love is but a blast, If 

And torneth with the wynde," 

Suche folkes can take no harme by 'ove, 

That can abide their torn. 
" But I alas can no way prove 

In love but lake and morn." 20 

But if thou wilt avoyde thy harme 

Lerne this lessen of me, 
At others fieres thy selfe to warme, 

And let them warme with the . 



V. 



A SONG TO THE LUTE IN MUSICKE. 



This sonnet (which is ascribed to Richard Ed- 
wards * in the " Paradise of Daintie Devises," fo. 
31, b.) is by Shakespeare made the subject of some 
pleasant ridicule in his " Romeo and Juliet", act iv. 
sc. 5, where he introduces Peter putting this question 
to the musicians. 

" Peter. . . .why ' Silver Sound'? ' why ' Musicke 
with her silver sound ' ! what say you, Simon 
Catling ? 

"1. Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet 
sound. 

" Pet. Pretty ! what say you, Hugh Rebecke ? 

" 2. Mus. I say, silver sound, because musicians 
sound for silver. 

" Pet. Pretty too ! what say you, James Sound- 
post? 

" 3. Mus. Faith, I know not what to say, 

" Pet I will say it for you : It is ' musicke 

with her silver sound,' because musicians have no 
gold for sounding." 

Edit. 1793, vol. xiv. p. 529. 



* Concerning him, see Wood's Athen. Oxon. and Tanner's 
Bibliotb.; also Sir John Hawkins's Hist, of Music, &c. 



This ridicule is not so much levelled at the song 
itself (which for the time it was written is not inele- 
gant) as at those forced and unnatural explanations 
often given by us painful editors and expositors of 
ancient authors. 

This copy is printed from an old quarto MS. in the 
Cotton Library (Vesp. A. 25), entitled, " Divers 
things of Hen. viij's time:" with some corrections 
from The Paradise of Dainty Devises, 1596. 

Where gripinge grefes the hart would wounde, 
And dolefulle dumps the mynde oppresse, 

There musicke with her silver sound 
With spede is wont to send redresse : 

Of trobled mynds, in every sore, 5 

Swete musicke hathe a salve in store. 

In joye yt maks our mirthe abounde, 
In woe yt cheres our hevy sprites ; 

Be strawghted heads relyef hath founde, 
By musickes pleasaunte swete delightes : 

Our senses all, what shall I say more ? 
Are subjecte unto musicks lore. 

Ver. 4, shall, MS. 



KIM, C0PH1 li \ \\l> UN BEGGAR-MAID. 



il tlii-r.iii doth | 

Fur. | *>l saves, 

III H'AS. V Would dWlfOJi 

\ : .111 death J; 

bis bsrpe. 



15 



() heavenly gyft, that rules the mynd, 

Kven ;u tiic stcrne dothe rule the shippe ! 20 

O musicke, whom the Gods assinde 

To cumforte marine, whom cares would nippe ! 

Since thow both man and beste doest move, 

\\ hat beste ys he, wyll the disprove? 



VI. 



KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR-MAID, 



— in s storv often alluded to bv our old dramatic 
in his Komeo and Juliet, act 

• 

" 11. r Y. bus's) purblind son and heir, 

Idam* Cupi !, be thai ^hot so true, 
When King Cophetna loved the beggar-maid." 

Km the l''h line nf the following ballad seems 

.'. irlv alluded to, it is not improbable that 

nt so trim, "which the players 

.>r praters, n.>t perceiving the allusion, might alter 

tu " tru.-." The former, ;is being the more humorous 

' Likely to have come from the 

: Mercatiof. 

, IV. art v. se. ;>, Falstaffis 
astro* . ing to 1'istoll, 

•• () base Assyrian knight, what is thy news? 
King Cophetna know the truth thereof.'' 

■ - 1>-. Warbuiton thinks, were taken from 
lay of "King Cophetna. No such 
. DOW to he found ; but it does not 
■ Mow that it never existed. .Many dra- 
matic pieces are referred to by old writers*, which 
»T* '■ >', or even mentioned in any list. 

' tege, plajS were often 8X- 

rinted 
It is probably ia slloaion to the same play that 

f " El .r\ Man in 
hi* M 

the baarl todaronr thee, an' I might 
iphetua." 
no mention of King Cophetna's 
ballad, which is the oldeat 1 
■ b "I, ti,«> subject 
it printed iron. Rich. Johnson's " Crown 
Oari i Roees," 16H, LSmo. < ^ ' 

oid a 

1 

• I mine 

as be did dot I in.- , 

D o.d, 

■ 

I' , 

»fc*. p II in, in tea. 



But, marke, what hapned on a day, 
As he out of his window lay, 10 

He saw a beggar all in gray, 
The which did cause his paine. 

The blinded boy, that sbootes so trim, 

From heaven downe did hie ; 
He drew a dart and shot at him, 15 

In place where he did lye : 
Which soone did pierse him to the quicke, 
And when he felt the arrow pricke, 
Which in his tender heart did sticke 

He looketh as he would dye. 20 

What sudden chance is this, quoth he, 
That I to love must subject be, 
Which never thereto would agree, 

But still did it defie? 

Then from the window he did come, 25 

And laid him on his bed, 
A thousand heapes of care did runne 

Within his troubled head : 
For now he meanes to crave her love, 
And now he seekes which way to proove 30 

How he his fancie might remoove, 

And not this beggar wed. 
I » i i T Cupid had liiin so in snare, 
That this poor beggar must prepare 
A salve to cure him of his care, $5 

Or els he would be dead. 



And, as he musing thus did lve, 

1 1.- thought for to devise 

Mow lie mighl have her companye, 

1 hat BO did 'maze his eyes. 40 

In thee, <pioth he, doth rest my life; 

For rarely thoa shall be my wife, 

Or BUN this baud with bloody knife 

I he < lodi shall sure sulliee. 
I hen from bis bed he soon arose, 4o 

\nd to ins pallace gate he goes ; 
Full little then tins begger knowes 
\\ lien she the king espiee. 

I he Godl preserve your majesty, 

I li.' bagg e rs all gan en : 5r 

\ onehaare to gh e your charity 
Our obildrena food to buy. 

I bfl kin;: to them his pursse did cast. 
\"d thOJ to part it made greal haste; 
1 ln> silly WOman was the last 55 

I bm after them did bye. 



TAKE THY OLD CLOAK ABOUT THEE. 



The king he cal*'d her back againe, 
And unto her he gave his chaine ; 
And said, With us you shal remame 

Till such time as we dye : .60 

For thou, quoth he, shalt be my wife, 

And honoured for my queene ; 
With thee I meane to lead my life, 

As shortly shall be seene : 
Our wedding shall appointed be, 6.5 

And every thing in its degree : 
Come on, quoth he, and follow me, 

Thou shalt go shift thee cleane. 
What is thy name, faire maid ? quoth he. 
Penelophon*, O king, quoth she : 70 

With that she made a lowe courtsey ; 

A trim one as I weene. 

Thus hand in hand along they walke 

Unto the king's pallace : 
The king with courteous comly talke 75 

This begger doth imbrace : 
The begger blushetbf scarlet red, 
And straight againe as pale as lead, 
But not a word at all she said, 

She was in such amaze. # 80 

At last she spake with trembling voyce, 
And said, O king, I doe rejoyce 
That you wil take me for your choyce, 

And my degree's so base. 

And when the wedding day was come, 85 

The king commanded strait 
The noblemen both all and some 

Upon the queene to wait. 



And she behaved herself that day, 
As if she had never walkt the way : 
She had forgot her gown of gray, 

Which she did weare of late. 
The proverbe old is come to passe, 
The priest, when he begins his masse, 
Forgets that ever clerke he was j 

He knowth not his estate. 

Here you may read, Cophetua, 

Though long time fancie-fed, 
Compelled by the blinded boy 

The begger for to wed : 
He that did lovers lookes disdaine, 
To do the same was glad and faine, 
Or else he would himselfe have slaine, 

In storie, as we read. 
Disdaine no whit, O lady deere, 
But pitty now thy servant heere, 
Least that it hap to thee this yeare, 

As to that king it did. 

And thus they led a quiet life 

During their princely raigne ; 
And in a tombe were buried both, 

As writers sheweth plaine. 
The lords they tooke it grievously, 
The ladies tooke it heavily, ' 
The commons cryed pitiously, 

Their death to them was paine, 
Their fame did sound so passingly 
That it did pierce the starry sky, 
And throughout all the world did flye 

To every princes realme *. 



51 



90 



9> 



100 



105 



110 



115 



120 



VII 



TAKE THY OLD CLOAK ABOUT THEE. 



— is supposed to hare been originally a Scotch bal- 
lad. The reader here has an ancient copy in the 
English idiom, with an additional stanza (the 2d) 
never before printed. This curiosity is preserved 
in the Editor's folio MS. but not without corruptions, 
which are here removed by the assistance of the 
Scottish Edit. Shakespeare, in his Othello, act ii. 
has quoted one stanza, with some variations, which 
are here adopted: the old MS. readings of that 
stanza are however given in the margin. 
This winters weather itt waxeth cold, 
And frost doth freese on every hill, 
And Boreas blowes his blasts soe bold, 
That all our cattell are like to spill ; 
Bell my wiffe, who, loves noe strife, 5 

Shee sayd unto me quietlye, 
Rise up, and save cow Cumbockes liffe, 
Man, put thine old cloake about thee. 



Shakespeare (who alludes to this ballad in his " Love's 
Labour lost," activ. sc. 1.) gives the Beggar's name Zenelo- 
phon, according to all the old editions : but this seems to be 
a corruption ; for Penelophon, in the text, sounds more like 
the name of a woman.— The story of the King and the 
Beggar is also alluded to in K. Rich. II. act v. sc. 3 



He. 

Bell, why dost thou flyte ' and scorne ?' 
Thou kenst my cloak is very thin : 1 

Itt is soe bare and overworne 

A cricke he theron cannot renn : 
Then He no longer borrow e nor lend, 

' For once He new appareld bee, 
To-morrow He to towne and spend,' 15 

For He have a new cloake about mee. 

She. 

Cow Crumbocke is a very good cowe, 
Shee ha beene alwayes true to the payle 

Shee has helpt us to butter and cheese, I trow, 
And other things shee will not fayle; 20 

1 wold be loth to see her pine, 

Good husband, councell take of mee, 
It is not for us to go soe fine, 

Man, take thine old cloake about thee. 



V. 90, i. e. tramped the streets.— 
addresses himself to his mistress.- 
anciently the plur. numb. 

* An ingenious friend thinks the 
change place. 



V. 105, Here the Poet 
-V. 112, Sheweth was 



two last stanzas should 



-1 



\\ II. LOW W ILLOW, WILLOW 



lh. 

■. ery u'l^'il oloake 2> 

ltt hath been elwayee true to thf weere, 

Jiut now it is not worth a groat ; 
I have had it four and forty 

Sometime itt was of cloth in greine, 

DOW hut a sigh clout as you may see, 30 
It wdl neither hold out winde nor nine • 
And He have a new cloake ahout mee. 

Si.f. 

It is four and fortve veeres agoe 

Since the one of us the other did ken, 
And we have had hetwixt us towe 35 

Of children either nine or ten ; 
W.e have brought them up to women and men; 

In the feare ofGod 1 trow they bee; 
And why wilt thou thyselfe misken ? 

Man, take thine old cloake about thee. 40 

He, 

Bell my wifre, why dost thou ' floute ! ' 

Now is nowe, and then was then : 
Seeke now all the world throughout, 

Thou kenst not clownes from gentlemen. 



They are cladd in blacke, greene, yellowe, or ' gray, 
Soe far above their owne degree : 46 

Once in my life He ■ doe as they,' 
Tor He have a new cloake about mee. 

She, 

King Stephen was a worthy pesre, 

His breeches cost him but a crowne, 50 

He held them sixpence all too ieere ; 

Therefore he calld the taylor Lowne. 
He was a wight of high renowne. 

And thouse but of a low degree : 
Itt's pride that putts this countrye downe, 55 

Man, take thine old cloake about thee. 

He. 

• Bell my wife she loves not strife, 

Yet she will lead me if she can ; 
And oft, to live a quiet life, 

I am forced to yield, though Ime good-man ;' 60 
Itt's not for a man with a woman to threape, 

Unlesse he first gave oer the plea : 
As wee began wee now will leave, 

And He take mine old cloake about mee. 



ViII. 



WILLOW, WILLOW WILLOW. 



! from the following stanzas that Shakes- 
has taken his song of the " Willow," in his 
Othello, act iv. sc. 3, though somewhat varied and 
npphed by him to a female character. He makes 

amona introduce it in this pathetic and affecting 
inaii- • 

.other had a maid call'd Barbara : 
She waa in low -. am! he she lov'd prov'dmad, 
And did forsake her. She had a aong of — Willow. 
An old thing 'twas, hut it express'd her fortune, 
And ahe died nnjgii 

Ed. 1793, vol. xv. p. 613. 
Thia is giren from a black-letter copy in the Pepya 
tion, thus entitled, M A Lover'a Complaint, 
a pleasanl tune. 

Ing under a ncamore tree ; 

ho-, , w llh.W, willow ! 
\\ nh hil hand on hU boaom, his head on his knre : 
Mow, willow, M illow ! 

h.w. m dh,w, u illow ! 5 

Willow shall ho niv garland. 

-. and after each groae, 
- 
I .km dead to all pleaaure, my true-lore ia gone ; 

id 
« ilh.w shall be niv garltad. 

- timed j untrue she doth pi 

i , 

■ oa n illow, 



\. ||, i . 



pitty me, (cried he,) ye lovers, each one ; 

O willow, &c. 
Her heart's hard as marble ; she rues not my nione. 

O willow, &c. 20 

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 

The cold streams ran by him, his eyes wept apace ; 

O willow, &c. 
The salt tears fell from him, which drowned his face : 

O willow, &c. 25 

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 

The mute birds sate by him, made tame by his mones ■ 
O willow, &c [stones. 

The salt tears fell from him, which softened the 
O willow, ,\,-. 3/' 

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland ! 

Let nobody blame me, her scornes I do prove ; 
O willow, &C. 

a as home to he faire ; I, to die for her love. 
O willow, &a 3i 

Sin-. () the greene willow shall be my garland. 

O that beauty should harbour a heart that's so hard! 

Sin- willow, fitO. 
My true love rejecting without all regard. 

O w Qlow, v\c. 40 

1 i he greene willow, ;\ C# 

Lot love no more boast, him in palace or bower, 

(> willow, Ac. 
For women are trothles, and flote in an houre. 

o willow, 8ec 

1 1 the ■■ i ■ ■ ■ u illow, 8cc 45 



v.40, King Harry. .a very good kin-, MS. V. 50, I 
.o.u hltboM coal hot, MS. V. 51, He thought .hem J2d to 
<l.. o MS. \ . 5*,clowiie, MS. V. 53, He was king and 

a i" > rowne, Ms. 6 



SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE. 



53 



But what helps complaining? In vaine I complaine: 

O willow, &c. 
I must patiently suffer her scorne and disdaine. 

O willow, &c. 50 

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 

Come, all you forsaken, and sit down hy me, 

O willow, &c. [she- 

He that 'plaines of his false love, mine's falser than 
O willow, &c. 55 

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 

The willow wreath weare I, since my love did fleet; 

O willow, &c. 
A garland for lovers forsaken most meete. 

O willow, &c. % 60 

Sing, O the greene willow shall he my garland ! 

PART THE SECOND. 

Lowe lay'd hy my sorrow, hegot by disdaine ; 

O willow, willow, wiliow ! 
Against her to cruell, still still I complaine, 

O willow, willow, willow ! 

O willow, willow, willow ! 5 

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland ! * 

O love too injurious, to wound my poore heart ! 

O willow, &c. 
To suffer the triumph, and joy in my smart ■ 

O willow, &c. 10 

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 

O willow, willow, willow ! the willow garland, 

willow, &c. 
A sign of her falsenesse before me doth stand : 

O willow, &c. 15 

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 

As here it doth bid to despair and to dye, 

O willow, &c. 
So hang it, friends, ore me in grave where I lye : 

O willow, &c. 20 

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland. 



In grave where I rest mee, hang this to the view, 

O willow, &c. 
Of all that doe knowe her, to blaze her untrue. 

O willow, &c. 25 

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 

With these words engraven, as epitaph meet, 

O willow, &c. [sweet." 

" Here lyes one, drank poyson for potion most 
O willow, &c. 30 

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 

Though she thus unkindly hath scorned my love, 

O willow, &c. 
And carelesly smiles at the sorrowes I prove ; 

O willow, &c. 35 

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 

I cannot against her unkindly exclaim, 

O willow, &c. [name ; 

Cause once well I loved her, and honoured hei 

O willow, &c. 40 

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 

The name of her sounded so sweete in mine eare, 

O willow, &c. 
It rays'd my heart lightly, the name of my deare ; 

O willow, &c. 45 

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland. 

As then 'twas my comfort, it now is my griefe ; 

O willow, &c. 
It now brings me anguish ; then brought me reliefe. 

O willow, &c. 50 

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 

Farewell, faire false hearted : plaints end with my 
O willow, willow, willow ! [breath ! 

Thou dost loath me, I love thee, though cause of my 
death. 
O willow, willow, willow ! 55 

O willow, willow, willow ! 

Sing, the greene willow shall be my garland. 



IX. 
SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE. 



This ballad is quoted in Shakespeare's second 
part of Henry IV. act ii. The subject of it is taken 
from the ancient romance of King Arthur, (com- 
monly called Morte Arthur), being a poetical trans- 
lation of chap, cviii., cix., ex., in part 1st, as they 
stand in ed. 1634, 4to. In the older editions the 
chapters are differently numbered. — This song is 
given from a printed copy, corrected in part by a 
fragment in the editor's folio MS. 

In the same play of 2 Henry IV. Silence hums a 
scrap of one of the old ballad's of Robin Hood. It 
is taken from the following stanza of " Robin Hood 
and the Pindar of Wakefield."-— 

All this beheard three wighty yeomen, 
Twas Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John : 

With that they espy'd the jolly Pindar 
As he sate under a throne. 



That ballad may be found on every stall, and 
therefore is not here reprinted. 

When Arthur first in court began, 

And was approved king, 
By force of armes great victorys wanne, 

And conquest home did bring. 

Then into England straight he came 5 

With fifty good and able 
Knights, that resorted unto him, 

And were of his round table : 



And he had justs and turnaments, 
Wherto were many prest, 

Wherein some knights did far excell 
And eke surmount the rest. 



10 



■I 



sin LANCELOi Di l.AKK. 



But clot in Lake, 

\\ ho was ipprOTttd " '••11, 

ll.' fat fail deede and foeta of an 15 

All i • KeeH 

\\ hen la- had rested him a while, 
lu jilav, and 0BD6| nd sportt, 

11.- -aid be irold goe prore bimaolM 

I in.- adventurous - » () 

II.- armed rude in a forrest wide, 

\ ! met a danw-11 faire, 
\\ ho told him of adventures greet, 

W'herto he gave great eare. 

Such wold I hud, quoth Lancelott : 25 

For that cause came I hither. 
Thou seemst, c|iioth shee, a knight full good, 

And I will bring thee thither. 

Wheras a mightv knight doth dwell, 

That now is of great fame : 30 

Therfore tell me what wight thou art, 

And what may be thy name. 

•• |fy name is Lancelot du Lake." 

Quoth she, it likes me than : 
Hen dwelles a knight who never was 35 

Yet matcht with any man : 

\\ ho lias in prison threescore knights 

And four, that he did wound ; 
Knightfl of King Arthurs court they be, 

And of his table round. 40 

She brought him to a river side. 

And also to a tree, 
Whereon a copper bason hung, 

And many shields to see. 

II.- struck soe hard, the bason broke ; 45 

\ud Terqnin soon he spyed : 
\\ ho drove a horse before him fast, 

W hereon a knight lay tyed. 

Sir knight, then sa\ d Sir Lancelott, 

: me that horse-load hither, 60 

And lav him downe, and let him rest ; 
\\ eel try our force together: 

POT, as I understand, thou hast, 

B •• far as thou art able, 
I >••!.•• greet despite anil shame unto 55 

I he bughta of the Round Table. 

If thou he of the Tank Round, 
Quoth Terquin needHye, 

■nd all thv felloe ship 
1 utterly di 60 

1 rev tnu'h, quoth Lancelot! tho, 

i defend thee by and bj . 

I - into their st. ■. iU, 

thev Bie< 

■ ' , | their horses ran, 65 

though there had beene thunder) 

Ai.d truck. ■ then each iminidet then- shields, 
w hen a -l'h th.v broke in aunder, 

x It, I m wrl ■. M8 l\ v. " Wi in n i. .1.1 bj ■ 

ol.i anil w i.. i. It || im u,, <•,,.,. 



1 h.ir horeeee beekes brake under them, 

The knights were both astound : 7C 

To avovd their horsses they made baste 
And light upon the ground. 

They tooke them to their shields full fast, 

Thev swords they drew out than, 
With mightv strokes most eagerlye 75 

Each at the other ran. 

They wounded were, and bled full sore, 

They both for breath did stand, 
And leaning on their swords awhile, 

Quoth Tarquine, Hold thy hand, 8' 

And tell to me what I shall aske, 

Say on, quoth Lancelot tho. 
Thou art, quoth Tarquine, the best knight 

That ever I did know ; 

And like a knight that I did hate : 85 

Soe that thou be not hee, 
I will deliver all the rest, 

And eke accord with thee. 

That is well said quoth Lancelott ; 

But sith it must be soe, 90 

What knight is that thou hatest thus ? 

I pray thee to me show. 

His name is Launcelot du Lake, 

He slew my brother deere ; 
Him I suspect of all the rest : 95 

I would 1 had him here. 

Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknowne, 

I am Lancelot du Lake, 
Now knight of Arthurs Table Round j 

King Hands son of Schuwake ; 100 

And I desire thee do thy worst. 

Ho, ho, quoth Tarqin tho, 
One of us two shall end our lives 

Before that we do go. 

If thou be Lancelot du Lake, J 05 

Then welcome shalt thou bee . 
YYherfore see thou thyself defend, 

For now defye 1 thee. 

They buckled then together so, 

Like unto wild boares rashing*; 1 10 

And with their swords and shields they ran 

At one another slashing : 

The ground besprinkled was wvth blood: 

Tarquin began to yield ; 

lor he gave backe for weavinesse, 115 

And [owe did beare his shield. 



• Bathing leemi to be the old hunting terra to express 
the stroke made bj the wild-boar with hie fangs. To rase 
\i.i- appro tntlj i meaning something similar. Sec Mr. Stee 
\. ii - Note en K. Leu. act ill. sc. 7. (ed. 1793, vol. xiv. p. 
103, ) where the quartos road, * 

" Nor thy fierce sister 
In his anointed n>>ii nun boarish fangs." 
So in K. diehard III, act iii, sc. 8, (vol. x. p. 567, 583.) 
" He dreamt 
To niulii the Boar had rased off Irs helm " 



GERNUTUS THE JEW OF V r ENICE. 



55 



This soone Sir Lancelot espyde, 

He leapt upon him then, 
He pull'd him downe upon his knee, 

And rushing off his helm. 



120 



Forthwith he strucke his necke in two, 
And, when he had soe done, 

From prison threescore knights and four 
Delivered every e one, 



X. 



CORYDON'S FAREWELL TO PHILLIS, 



— is an attempt to paint a lover's irresolution, but 
so poorly executed, that it would not have been 
admitted into this collection, if it had not been 
quoted in Shakespeare's Twelfth-Night, act ii. sc. 3. 
— It is found in a little ancient miscellany, entitled 
" The Golden Garland of Princely Delights," 1 2mo. 
bl. let. 

In the same scene of 'the Twelfth-night, Sir Toby 
sings a scrap of an old ballad, which is preserved in 
the Pepy's collection, [vol. i. pp. 33, 496.] ; but as 
it is not only a poor dull performance, but also very 
long, it wid be sufficient here to give the first stanza : 

The Ballad of Constant Susanna. 

There dwelt a man in Babylon 

Of reputation great by fame ; 

He took to wife a faire woman, 

Susanna she was callde by name : 
A woman fair and vertuous ; 

Lady, lady : 
Why should we not of her learn thus 

To live godly ? 

If this song of Corydon, &c. has not more merit, 
it is at least an evil of less magnitude. 

Farewell, dear love ; since thou wilt needs be gone, 
Mine eyes do shew, my life is almost done. 
Nay I will never die, so long as I can spie 



There be many mo, though that she doe goe, 
There be many mo, I fear not : 5 

Why then let her goe, I care not. 

Farewell, farewell ; since this I find is true 
I will not spend more time in wooing you : 

But I will seek elsewhere, if I may find love there : 
Shall I bid her goe ? what and if I doe ] 10 

Shall I bid her goe and spare not 1 
O no, no, no, I dare not. 

Ten thouaand times farewell ; — yet stay a while : — 
Sweet, kiss me once ; sweet kisses time beguile: 
I have no power to move. How now am I in love? 15 
Wilt thou needs be gone ? Go then, all is one. 
Wilt thou needs be gone ? Oh, hie thee ! 
Nay stay, and do no more deny me. 

Once more adieu, I see loath to depart 
Bids oft adieu to her, that holds my heart. 20 

But seeing I must lose thy love, which I did choose, 
Goe thy way for me, since that may not be. 
Goe thy ways for me. But whither 1 
Goe, oh, but where I may come thither. 

What shall I doe ? my love is now departed. 25 

She is as fair, as she is cruel-hearted. [repeated, 

She would not be intreated, with prayers oft 

If she come no more, shall I die therefore ? 

If she come no more, what care 1 1 

Faith, let her goe, or come, or tarry. 30 



XI. 



GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE. 



In the " Life of Pope Sixtus V, translated from 
the Italian of Greg. Leti, by the Rev. Mr. Farne- 
worth, folio," is a remarkable passage to the follow- 
ing effect. 

" It was reported in Rome, that Drake had taken 
and plundered St. Domingo in Hispaniola, and 
carried off an immense booty. This account came 
in a private letter to Paul Secchi, a very consider- 
able merchant in the city, who had large concerns in 
those parts, which he had insured. Upon receiving 
this news, he sent for the insurer Sampson Ceneda, 
a Jew, and acquainted him with it. The Jew whose 
interest it was to have such a report thought false, 
gave many reasons why it could not possibly be true, 
and at last worked himself into such a passion, 
that he said, I'll lay you a pound of flesh it is a 



lye. Secchi, who was of a fiery hot temper, replied, 
I'll lay you a thousand crowns against a pound 
of your flesh that it is true. The Jew accepted 
the wager, and articles were immediately executed 
betwixt them, that, if Secchi won, he should him- 
self cut the flesh with a sharp knife from whatever 
part of the Jew's body he pleased. The truth of 
the account was soon confirmed ; and the Jew was 
almost distracted, when he was informed, that Secchi 
had solemnly swore he would compel him to an 
exact performance of his contract. A report of this 
transaction was brought to the Pope, who sent for 
the parties, and, being informed of the whole affair, 
said, when contracts are made, it is but just they 
should be fulfilled, as this shall : take a knife, there- 
fore, Secchi, and cut a pound of flesh from any 






(,i i;\i n a THE .M.w OF \ ENICE. 



a j.l.-aA* of tlw ] . vl b advise you 

if v.. ti rut but | 

H r 1 1 j ■ . ■ - - than \ our due. you shall certainly 

i i- of opinion, that the scene 

Merchant of 

taken from tln> inci i at BuJ Mr. 

i, in hi* i ' M on the 

i ... " liits referred it to the 

ballad. Mr. Warton thinke this ballad 

tkspeare'a play, as being not 

of the nakedness 

i t, it tliil'.rs from the play in 

iii;uiv c ir o um otanoea, which a mere copyist, such oa 

w.'iiuiv auppoeethe ballad-maker to be, would hardly 

i himself the trouble to alter. Indeed be 

»ly informs us, that he had his story from the 

tin- " Connoisseur," vol. i. 

old be glad to know what autho- 
rity '• Led" bod for the foregoing met, or at least for 
it with the taking of 3t Domingo by 
Drake ; for tliis expedition did not happen till 1585, 
and it is very oertain that a play of the " Jewe, re- 
nting the greedinease of worldly chusers, and 
. mindfl of u>urcr>," had been exhibited at the 
play-house colled the " Hull," before the year 1579, 
mentioned in Steph. Gosson's " Schoole of 
'," which was printed in that year. 
\ | for Bbokeapeari ■ " Merchant of Venice," the 
earliest edition known of it is in quarto, 1600; 
though it had been exhibited in the year 1598, 
.lied, together with eleven others of his 
Men 's "Wits Treasury," &c 1598, 12mo. 
- i '•! tlone'a Shokesp. 
The following is printed tram an ancient blaok- 
copy in the Pi pya collectiont, entitled, "A new 
shewing the crueltie of ' Gernutus, a Jewe,' 

who, 1 . • 1 1 » 1 i n >_r to B merchant an hundred crowns, 

: have a pound of bis neshe, because he could 
v him at the time appointed. To the tune of 
i . How." 

rai ram part. 

• not longagoe 
• l .lew .!id dwell, 

h lived all on usiirie 

•i \t, 5 

\\ bicb never thought to dse, 

lo t: ta t liit lie. 

■ 

10 

.1 men \\ nl bin 

trd . 

i J 
J »U it u ipreod ■! 

iter. 

roue 

•.mi 

* Wirloo, ubi Hipra. 
I 



Hi- heart doth thinke on many a wile, 

How to deceive the poore ; 
His mouth is almost ful of mucke, 

Jfet still he gapes for more. 

lli> wife must lend a shilling, 25 

For every weeke a penny, 

Yet bring a pledge, that is double worth, 
[f that you will have any. 

And see, likewise, you keepe your day, 

Or else you loose it all : 30 

This was the living of the wife, 
Her cow she did it call. 

Within that citie dwelt that time 

A marchant of great fame, 
Which being distressed in his need, 35 

Unto Gernutus came : 

Desiring him to stand his friend 

For twelve month and a day, 
To lend to him an hundred crownes : 

And he for it would pay 40 

Whatsoever he would demand of him, 

And pledges he should have. 
No, (quoth the Jew with Hearing lookes,) 

Sir, aske what you will have. 

No penny for the loane of it 45 

For one year you shall pay ; 
You may doe rne as good a turne, 

Hefore my dying day. 

But we will have a merry jeast, 

For to be talked long : 50 

You shall make me a bond, quoth he, 

That shall be large and strong : 

And this shall be the forfeyture ; 

Of your owne fleshe a pound. 
[f you agree, make you the bond, 55 

And here is a hundred crownes. 

With right good will ! the marchant says: 

And BO the bond was made. 
When twelve month and a dav drew on 

That backe it should be payd. 60 

The merchants ships v\ere all at sea, 

And money came not in ; 

\\ hich way to take, or what to doe 
To thinke he doth begin : 

And to Gernutna strait he comes 65 

With rap and bended knee. 

And aayde to him, Of ourtesie 
1 pray you beare with mee. 

Ml day is come, and I have not 

I he monej for Co pay : 70 

And little good the forreyture 

Will doe yOU, I dare sav. 



\. aa Cow, >"v> . wanu n> have suggested to Shakespeare 
'MH.nl foi usurj taken from Jacob's manage- 
' i L ib in'i -i" - p, i< i i, t<> which Antonio replies : 
•• w ii this huei led to make Interest good ? 

<>i ■!" jroui {old .ind silver ewes and rams? 
" sin/, i cannot teU. I make ii brrcd as font." 



GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE. 



b? 



With all iny heart, Gernutus sayd, 

Commaund it to your minde : 
In thinges of bigger waight then this 75 

You shall me ready finde. 

He goes his way ; the day once past 

Gernutus doth not slacke 
To get a sergiant presently ; 

And clapt him on the backe : 80 

And layd him into prison strong, 

And sued his bond withall ; 
And when the judgement day was come, 

For judgement he did call. 

The marchants friends came thither fast 85 

With many a weeping eye, 
For other means they could not find. 

But he that day must dye. 

THE SECOND PART. 

< 

" Of the Jews crueltie ; setting foorth the merci- 
fulnesse of the Judge towards the Marchant. To 
the tune of Blacke and Yellow." 

Some offered for his hundred crownes 

Five hundred for to pay ; 
And some a thousand, two or three, 

Yet still he did denay. 

And at the last ten thousand crownes 5 

They offered, him to save. 
Gernutus sayd, I will no gold : 

My forfeite I will have. 

A pound of fleshe is my demand, 

And that shall be my hire. 10 

Then sayd the judge, Yet, good my friend, 

Let me of you desire 

To take the flesh from such a place, 

As yet you let him live : 
Do so, and lo ! an hundred crownes 15 

To thee here will I give. 

No : no: quoth he ; no : judgement here : 

For this it shall be tride, 
For I will have my pound of fleshe 

From under his right side. 20 

It grieved all the companie 

His crueltie to see, 
For neither friend nor foe could helpe 

But he must spoyled bee. 

The bloudie Jew now ready is 25 

With whetted blade in hand*, 
To spoyle the bloud of innocent, 

By forfeit of his bond. 

And as he was about to strike 

In him the deadly blow : 30 

Stay (quoth the judge) thy crueltie ; 

I charge the to do so. 



* The passage in Shakespeare bears so strong a resem- 
blance to this, as to render it probable that the one suggested 
tbe other. See act iv. sc. 2. 

" Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly ? &c." 



Sith needs thou wilt thy forfeit have, 

Which is of flesh a pound : 
See that thou shed no drop of bloud, 35 

Nor yet the man confound. 

For if thou doe, like murderer 

Thou here shalt hanged be : 
Likewise of flesh see that thou cut 

No more than longes to thee : 40 

For if thou take either more or lesse 

To the value of a mite, 
Thou shalt be hanged presently, 

As is both law and right. 

Gernutus now waxt franticke mad, 45 

And wotes not what to say ; 
Quoth he at last, Ten thousand crownes, 

I will that he shall pay j 

And so I graunt to set him free. 

The judge doth answere make ; 50 

You shall not have a penny given j 

Your forfeyture now take. 

At the last he doth demaund 

But for to have his owne. 
No, quoth the judge, doe as you list, 55 

Thy judgement shall be showne. 

Either take your pound of flesh, quoth he, 

Or cancell me your bond. 
O cruell judge, then quoth the Jew, 

That doth against me stand ! 60 

And so with griping grieved mind 

He biddeth them fare-well. 
' Then ' all the people prays'd tke Lord, 

That ever this heard tell. 

Good people, that doe heare this song, 65 

For trueth I dare well say, 
That many a wretch as ill as hee 

Doth live now at this day ; 

That seeketh nothing but the spoyle 

Of many a wealthy man, 70 

And for to trap the innocent 

Deviseth what they can. 

From whome the Lord deliver me, 

And every Christian too, 
And send to them like sentence eke 75 

That meaneth so to do. 

*%* Since the first edition of this book was printed, 
the Editor hath had reason to believe that both 
Shakespeare and the Author of this ballad are in- 
debted for their story of the Jew (however they 
came by it) to an Italian Novel, which was first 
printed at Milan in the year 1554, in a book entitled, 
II pecorone, nel quale si contengono Cinquanta Novelle 
antiche, &c. re-published at Florence about the year 
1748, or 9. — The Author was Ser. Giovanni Fioren- 
tino, who wrote in 1378 ; thirty years after the 
time in which the scene of Boccace's Decameron is 
laid. (Vid. Manni Istoria del Decameron di Giov. 
Boccac. 4to Fior. 1744.) 

That Shakespeare had his plot from the Novel it- 

V. 61, griped, Ashmol. copy. 



THE PASSION \ l l. SHEPHEKD K) HIS LOVE, 



. at from bis baring some incidents from 

it. which are nut found in tin- ballad : ami I think it 
will SUM Im found that lit' born. wed from the ballad 

that wen not suggested by the novel. 
1 .. I . a bare, instead of that 

- nptioii of (AC ult,lt<d I't'iti,-. 8CC tin- 1 

Narrative coldly says, " The Jew bad prepared ■ 

other paaaagee in the 

- boa t\ . r is spoken with diffidence, 

pmeeot Define DM only the abridgement 



of tlie novel which Mr. Johnson has given us at the 
end of his commentary on Shakespeare's play. The 
translation of the Italian story at large is not easy to 
l)r met with, having I believe never been published, 
though it was printed some years ago with this title, 
" The Novel, from which the Merchant of Venice, 
written by Shakespeare is taken, translated from the 
Italian. To which is added, a translation of a novel 
from the Decamerone of Boccacio, London, Printed 
for M. Cooper, 1755, 8vo." 



XII. 

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. 



This beautiful sonnet is quoted in the Merry 
W lv,-., of Windsor, act lii. sc. 1, and hath been usually 
ascribed (together with the reply) to Shakespeare 

i bv the modern editors of his smaller poems. 
A copy of tins madrigal, containing only four stanzas 
• the 1th and 6th being wanting,) accompanied with 
the hrst stanza of the answer, being printed in "The 

Mate Pilgrime, end Sonnets to sundry Notes 
of MuMcke, bv .Mr. 'William Shakespeare, Loud. 
printed for \\ . Jagcard, 1599" Thus was this 

t, xc. published as Shakespeare's in his life- 
time. 

I vet there is good reason to believe that (not 
Shakespeare, but) Christopher Mario w wrote the 

and Sir \\ alter Raleigh the " Nymph's Reply : M 

we are po>itivelv assured by Isaac Walton, 
a writer ofsome credit, who has inserted them botli 
in bis Compleat Angler*, under the character of 
*' that smooth song, which was made by KitMarlow, 
It least fifty years ago; and .. ..an Answer to 
it, which was made bv Sir Walter Raleigh in his 
younger days. . . .Old fashioned poetry, but choicely 
li slao paeeed for Harlow's in the opinion 
of In- i oatemporeries ; for in the old poetical miscel- 

SOtitled, " England's Helicon," it is printed 
with the name of I'hr. Marlow subjoined to it; 
and • : [gnOtO, which is known to 

ttan of sir Walter Raleigh. With 

unlit, in that collection, is an 

: uarlou a, beginning thus : 

I . ■ With me, and be my dear, 

A titl we a ill re\ el all the year, 

In jilniis and g] 

I mi lined tO attribute them to 

Rali i ; nutw itbstanding the an- 
Sonnets, 
walll is he toot do care of hie own oom- 

regardleea a bat s p urious 
- r John Olaoaatle, 

ami the ^ orkahiri 

U I with In-, naine at hill length in the title- 
pagaa, whib' be was living, which yet wen 

• ■ and 

re In- intimaie friends, i i> be men- 
i. in* mil, i nmi • doubt bad 

daft 

' ' bahl) wi 

M ' *Hb bti Moal 

ral.bal . • ! ■ . lanu lo qnral . from Ibc 

i I til i 

aaaasa Mj 



The following sonnet appears to have been (as it 
deserved) a great favourite with our earlier poets : 
for, besides the imitation above mentioned, another 
is to be found among Donne's Poems, entitled, "The 
Bait," beginning thus : 

" Come live with me, and be my love, 
And we will some new pleasures prove 
Of golden sands, &c." 

As for Chr. Marlow, who was in high repute for 
his dramatic writings, he lost his life bv a stab re- 
ceived in a brothel, before the year 1593. See A. 
Wood, i. 138. 

Come live with me, and be my love, 
And we wil all the pleasures prove 
That hils and vallies, dale and field, 
And all the craggy mountains yield. 

There will we sit upon the rocks, 5 

And see the shepherds feed their flocks, 
By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 

There will I make thee beds of roses 

With a thousand fragrant posies, 10 

A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 

Imbrodered all with leaves of mirtle ; 

A gown made of the finest wool, 
Which from our pretty lambs we pull; 
Slippers lin'd choicely for the cold ; 
With buckles of the purest gold; 

A belt of straw, and ivie buds, 
With coral clasps, and amber studs: 

And if these pleasures may thee move, 

Then lire with me, and be my love. '20 

I be shepherd swains shall dance and sing 
For thy delight each May morning; 

if these delights thy mind may move, 

1 ban live with me and be my love. 

Till \ \ Mill's Ri pi Y. 

h that the World and Lore were voung, 

And truth in e\ cry shepherd's toung, 

I base | n u\ pleasures might me move 
To lire a Iu thee, and be thy love. 

But lime drives Bocks from field to fold, b 

\\ ben rivers rage, and rocks grow cold, 
\ntl Philomel beoometh dumb, 
Ai,.i all complain of cares to come. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT. 



5> 



The flowers do fade, and wanton fields 

To wayward winter reckoning yield : 10 

A honey tongue, a heart of gall, 

Is fancies spring, hut sorrows fall. 

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy heds of roses, 

Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, 

Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, 15 

In folly ripe, in reason rotten. 



Thy belt of straw, and ivie buds, 
Thy coral clasps, and amber studs ; 
All these in me no means can move 
To come to thee, and be thy love. 

But could youth last, and love still breed, 
Had joyes no date, nor age no need ; 
Then those delights my mind might move 
To live with thee, and be thy love. 



23 



XIII. 
TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT. 



The reader has here an ancient ballad on the same 
subject as the play of " Titus Andronicus," and it 
is probable that the one was borrowed from the 
other : but which of them was the original, it is not 
easy to decide. And yet, if the argument offered 
above in page 227, for the priority of the ballad of 
the Jew of Venice may be admitted, somewhat of 
the same kind may be urged here ; for this ballad 
differs from the play in several particulars, which a 
simple ballad-writer would be less likely to alter than 
an inventive tragedian. Thus, in the ballad, is no 
mention of the contest for the empire between the 
two brothers, the composing of which makes the 
ungrateful treatment of Titus afterwards the more 
flagrant : neither is there any notice taken of his 
sacrificing one of Tamora's sons, which the tragic 
poet has assigned as the original cause of all her 
cruelties. In the play, Titus loses twenty-one of 
his sons in war, and kills another for assisting Bas- 
sianus to carry off Lavinia : the reader will find it 
different in the ballad. In the latter she is be- 
trothed to the emperor's son : in the play to his 
brother. In the tragedy, only two of his sons fall 
into the pit, and the third, being banished, returns 
to Rome with a victorious army, to avenge the 
wrongs of his house : in the ballad, all three are 
entrapped and suffer death. In the scene, the em- 
peror kills Titus, and is, in return, stabbed by Titus's 
surviving son. Here Titus kills the emperor, and 
afterwards himself. 

Let the reader weigh these circumstances, and 
some others, wherein he will find them unlike, and 
then pronounce for himself. — After all, there is 
reason to conclude that this play was rather improved 
by Shakspeare, with a few fine touches of his pen, 
than originally written by him ; for, not to mention 
that the style is less figurative than his others 
generally are, this tragedy is mentioned with dis- 
credit in the Induction to Ben Johnson's " Bartho- 
lomew Fair, in 1614," as one that had then been 
| exhibited " five-and-twenty or thirty years:" which, 
j if we take the lowest number, throws it back to the 
I year 1589, at which time Shakspeare was but 25 ; 
an earlier date than can be found for any other of 
his pieces* : and if it does not clear him entirely 
of it, shows at least it was a first attemptf. 

* Mr. M alone thinks 1591 to be the sera when our author 
commenced a writer for the stage. See in his Shaksp. the 
ingenious " Attempt to ascer ain the order in which the plays 
of Shakespeare were written." 

t Since the above was written, Shakespeare's memory has 
been fully vindicated from the charge of writing the above 
play by the best critics. See what has been urged by Stee- 
vens and Malone in their excellent editions of Shakespeare, 
&c. 



The following is given from a copy in " The Gol- 
den Garland," entitled as above ; compared with 
three others, two of them in black letter in the Pepys 
collection, entitled "The Lamentable and Tragical 
History of Titus Andronicus, &c." " To the Tune 
of Fortune," printed for E. Wright. Unluckily, 
none of these have any dates. 

You noble minds, and famous martiall wights, 
That in defence of native country fights, 
Give eare to me, that ten yeeres fought for Rome, 
Yet reapt disgrace at my returning home. 

In Rome I lived in fame fulle threescore yeeres, 5 
My name beloved was of all my peeres ; 
Fulle five-and-twenty valiant sonnes I had, 
Whose forwarde vertues made their father glad. 

For when Romes foes their warlike forces bent, 
Against them stille my sonnes and I were sent ; 10 
Against the Goths full ten yeares weary warre 
We spent, receiving many a bloudy scarre. 

Just two-and-twenty of my sonnes were slaine 
Before we did returne to Rome againe : 
Of five-and-twenty sonnes, I brought but three 15 
Alive, the stately towers of Rome to see. 

When wars were done, I conquest home did bring 
And did present my prisoners to the king, 
The queene of Goths, her sons, and eke a Moore, 
Which did such murders, like was nere before. 20 

The emperour did make this queene his wife, 
Which bred in Rome debate and deadly strife ; 
The Moore, with her two sonnes did growe soe proud, 
That none like them in Rome might be allowd. 

The Moore soepleas'd this new-made empress' eie,25 
That she consented to him secretlye 
For to abuse her husbands marriage bed, 
And soe in time a blackamore she bred. 

Then she, whose thoughts to murder were inclinde, 
Consented with the Moore of bloody minde 30 

Against myselfe, my kin, and all my friendes, 
In cruell sort to bring them to their endes. 

Soe when in age I thought to live in peace, 
Both care and griefe began then to increase : 
Amongst my sonnes I had one daughter brighte, 35 
Which joy'd, and pleased best my aged sight ; 



I \ki. I H08E I IP8 \ \N IT. 



thed dm 
' ami noble man : 

\N h<>. r by the asaperours wife, 

Ami lit : : life. 40 

.-' in cruel B] 
• n from light of - 
.lul com.- thai way as then 

u ho fell into die den, 

then fetcht the emperour with speed, 45 

•• tin -in of that murderous deed ■ 

ones within the den were found, 
In wrongful! prison thy ware cast ami bound. 

Hut oowe, heboid ? what wounded most my mind, 

Bonnes of savage kind 50 

M\ daughter ravished without rem 

m away her honour, quite perforce. 

When they had tasted of soe sweete a flow-re, 

• ••• Bhonld shortly tome to sow-re, 
utt her tongue, whereby she could not tell 55 

Hon that diahonoure unto her befell. 

Then both her hands thev basely eutt off quite, 
\\ hereby their wickedneass she could not w-rite ; 

Nor with her needle on her sampler sowe 

The bloodye workers of her direxuD woe. 60 

M j brother Marcus found her in the wood, 

Staining the grassis ground with purple bloud, 

lokled from herstumpes. and bloudlesse armes : 
ague at all .she had to tell her harmes. 

• Inr in that woefull case, 65 

With teares of bloud I wet mine aged face: 

inia I lamented more 

Then tor my two end-twenty sonnes before. 

Win the could not write nor apeake, 

U nli grief mine aged h. art began to breaks ; 70 
land upon the ground, 

ilOudy tyrants out w e found. 
. « ithOttt the helps of hand, 

She wntt tl,. anon 1 1 > . - plat of sand ■ 

•• I be lustraD tonnes of the proud emperesse 75 
: this hateful wickt 

,.• milk-w int.- hairs from off mine head, 
borne, w herein 1 first was bred, 



T wisht this hand, that fought for countrie's fame, 
In cradle rockt, had first been stroken lame. 80 

The Moore delighting still in villainy 

Did sav, to sett my sonnes from prison free 

I should unto the king my right hand give, 

A ml then my three imprisoned sonnes should live. 

The Moore I caus'd to strike it off with speede, 85 
Whereat I grieved not to see it bleed, 
Hut for my sonnes would willingly impart, 
And for their ransome send my bleeding heart. 

But as my life did linger thus in paine, 
They sent to me my bootlesse hand againe, 90 

And therewithal the heades of my three sonnes, 
Which fdld my dying heart with fresher moanes. 

Then past reliefe, I upp and downe did goe, 
And with my tears writ in the dust my woe : 
I shot my arrowes* towards heaven hie 95 

And for revenge to hell did often crye. 

The empresse then, thinking that I was mad, 
Like Furies she and both her sonnes were clad, 
(Shenam'd Revenue, and Raps and Murder thev) 
To undermine and heare what I would say. 100 

I fed their foolish veines t a certaine space, 
Untill rav friendes did find a secret place, 
\\ here both her sonnes unto a post were bound, 
j And just revenge in cruell sort was found. 

I cut their throates, my daughter held the pan 105 
Betwixt her stumpes, wherein the bloud it ran : 
And then I ground their bones to powder small, 
And made a paste for pyes streight therewithal!. 

Then with their fleshe I made two mighty pyes, 
And at a banquet served in stately wise : 110 

Before the empresse set this loathsome meat ; 
So of her sonnes own flesh she well did eat. 

Edyselfe bereav'd my daughter then of life, 
The empresse then I slewe with bloudv knife, 
And stabb'd the emperour immediatelie, 115 

And then myself : even so did Titus die. 

I'hen this revenge against the Moore was found, 

Alive they sett him halte into the ground, 

Whereas he stood untill such time he starv'd. 

Ami bos God send ail murderers may be serv'd 120 



XIV. 



TAKE THOSE 
stana of this luii,. Bonnet, wbiefa an 
• . (trams 

Vl< i tin •■ r M. b- 

* ther," 
Bnd <ul.loi, bars printed it 

amller | mi . but thej bars 

thai w. rs 
•rnt l.\ linn. Um i heap 



Dr. 



UPS AWAY 

gard'l old eu.tion of Shakespeare's 
Pilgrim J, See. 



Passionate 



• 1 1 the ballad ».is written before iii<- play, I should sap- 

l • this i" be onlj .i metaphorical expression, taken from 

that in iii«- Psalms, «' I 'hi \ shoot oat their arrows, even 
bittei words." Pi, at, ;i. 

t i. .. encouraged then la their foolish humours, or fan- 
Mr. Ifalone In his Improved edition of Shakespeare's 
Ronnbts, fee, hath lobstltnted this Instead of Marlow'a Ma- 
drigal, printed above ; for which he hath assigned reasons 
which it..- readei maj ice In his wi. \. p. 340. 



KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS. 



Take, oh take those lips away, 
That so sweetlye were forsworne ; 

And those eyes, the hreake of day, 
Lights, that do misleade the morne : 

But my kisses bring againe, 

Seales of love, but seal'd in vaine. 



Hide, oh hide those hills of snowe, 
Which thy frozen bosom beares, 

On whose tops the pinkes that growe 
Are of those that April wears ; 

But first set my poor heart free, 

Bound in those icy chains by thee. 



10 



XV. 



KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS. 



The reader has here an ancient ballad on the sub- 
ject of King Lear, which (as a sensible female critic 
has well observed*) bears so exact an analogy to 
the argument of Shakespeare's play, that his having 
copied it could not be doubted, if it were certain 
that it was written before the tragedy. Here is 
found the hint of Lear's madness, which the old 
chronicles t do not mention, as also the extravagant 
cruelty exercised on him by his daughters. In the 
death of Lear they likewise very exactly coincide. — 
The misfortune is, that there is nothing to assist us 
in ascertaining the date of the ballad but what little 
evidence arises from within ; this the reader must 
weigh, and judge for himself. 

It may be proper to observe, that Shakspeare was 
not the first of our Dramatic Poets who fitted the 
story of Leir to the stage. His first 4to edition is 
dated 1608 ; but three years before that had been 
printed a play entitled " The true Chronicle History 
of Leir and his three daughters Gonorill, Ragan, 
and Cordelia, as it hath been divers and sundry 
times lately acted, 1605, 4to." — This is a very poor 
and dull performance, but happily excited Shake- 
speare to undertake the subject, which he has given 
with very different incidents. It is remarkable, that 
neither the circumstances of Leir's madness, nor his 
retinue of a select number of knights, nor the affect- 
ing deaths of Cordelia and Leir, are found in that 
first dramatic piece ; in all which Shakespeare con- 
curs with this ballad. 

But to form a true judgment of Shakespeare's 
merit, the curious reader should cast his eye over 
that previous sketch, which he will find printed at 
the end of the twenty plays of Shakespeare, repub- 
lished from the quarto impressions by George 
Steevens, Esq. with such elegance and exactness as 
led us to expect that fine edition of all the works of 
our great Dramatic Poet, which he hath since pub- 
lished. 

The following ballad is given from an ancient copy 
in the " Golden Garland," bl. let. entitled, " A 
lamentable Song of the Death of King Lear and his 
Three Daughters. To the tune of When flying 
Fame." 

King Leir once ruled in this land 

With princely power and peace ; 
And had all things with hearts content, 

That might his joys increase. 
Amongst those things that nature gave, 5 

Three daughters fair had he, 
So princely seeming beautiful, 

As fairer could not be. 

* Mrs. Lennox. Shakespeare illustrated, vol. iii. p. 302. 
+ See Jeffery of Monmouth, Holingshed, &c. who relate 
Leir's history in many respects the same as the ballad. 



So on a time it pleas'd the king 

A question thus to move, 
Which of his daughters to his grace 

Could shew the dearest love : 
For to my age you bring content, 

Quoth he, then let me hear, 
Which of you three in plighted troth 

The kindest will appear. 

To whom the eldest thus began ; 

Dear father, mind, quoth she, 
Before your face, to do you good, 

My blood shall render'd be : 
And for your sake my bleeding heart 

Shall here be cut in twain, 
Ere that I see your reverend age 

The smallest grief sustain. 

And so will I, the second said ; 

Dear father, for your sake, 
The worst of all extremities 

I'll gently undertake : 
And serve your highness night and day 

With diligence and love ; 
That sweet content and quietness 

Discomforts may remove. 

In doing so, you glad my soul, 

The aged king reply'd ; 
But what sayst thou, my youngest girl, 

How is thy love ally'd ? 
My love (quoth young Cordelia then) 

Which t ) your grace I owe, 
Shall be the duty of a child, 

And that is all I'll show. 



And wilt thou shew no more, quoth he, 

Than doth thy duty bind ? 
I well perceive thy love is small, 

When as no more I find. 
Henceforth I banish thee my court, 

Thou art no child of mine ; 
Nor any part of this my realm 

By favour shall be thine. 



Thy elder sisters loves are more 

Than well I can demand, 
To whom I equally bestow 

My kingdome and my land, 
My pompal state and all my goods, 

That lovingly I may 
With those thy sisters be maintain'd 

Until my dying day. 



10 



15 



20 



25 



30 



35 



40 



45 



55 






KING II lit AND HI8 I HREE DAUGHTERS. 



AH, 

The tlnr.l had causeless banish 

Minn- dear : 

aatlr 

W • .' 1 -mil rinuT lJ i' tod d©H n, 

;.*il, unpityd, gentle maid, 

I hlOOgfc OB ish town ; 

I'ntill ut lust iii famous France 
-•ntler fhftnim found ; 

Though poot tad bare, vet ahe was deem'd 

fiureet on the ground : 

when the Icing her virtues heard, 
And this fair ladv seen, 

With lull ooneenl of all his court 

He made his wit',- and quren. 

ll<r father King I-eir this while 
With Ins two daughters staid: 

I Mul of their promis'd loves, 

full .soon the same deca\ \1 ; 
And living in Queen Kazan's court, 

The eldest of the twain, 
She took from bim his chiefest means, 

lad moat of all his train. 

For whereas twentv men were wont 
To wait with bended knee : 

. | allowance hut to ten, 
And after scarce to three ; 

BO she thought too much for him ; 
■k she all away, 

In hope that in her court, good king, 
He would no longer stay. 

Am I rewarded thus, quoth he, 

In firing all 1 have 

v children, and to beg 
For a hat I lately gave I 

I'll go unto mv (ionorell : 

I child, 1 know. 
Will he more kind and pitiful, 

And a ill raliai e mv woe. 

Full fast he hi,-.., then to ],,-r court ; 
• • M hen she beard his moan 

Retarn'd bim anawer, That she griev'd, 

• .ill in, mi-ails u are gone i 

old relieve his wants , 
Vej it thai l"- anruld • 
Within bar kitchen, be should bare 
\\ h i 

When he bad heard, aritrj bitter tears, 
He ! nrar than , 

I 1- I Hi.- be made 

aple t" all nam. 

I will return again, ipioth he, 
irt , 

me thus, i i, 

.'< | Lll.dei 

• gave oommand 

I • i\<- loin tli. 

•^ I"'" ' M ithiu her court 

i) be poaJd 

1 Tell 

I be aroaral king did bit, 

her kitchen be might have 



But there of that he was deny'd 

Which she had promis'd late : 
For once refusing, he should not 

Come after to her gate. 
Thus twixt his daughters, for relief 

He wandred up and down; 
Being glad to feed on beggars food, 

That lately wore a crown. 



65 



70 



?.•> 



85 



90 



95 



100 



105 



IK 



i 



125 



130 



135 



And calling to remembrance then 

His youngest daughters words, 
That said the duty of a child 

Was all that love affords : 
But doubting to repair to her, 

Whom he had banish'd so, 
Grew frantick mad ; for in his mind 

Fie bore the wounds of woe : 

Which made him rend his milk-white locks, 

And tresses from his head, 
And all with blood bestain his cheeks, 

W itfa age and honour spread. 
To hills and woods and watry founts 

He made his hourly moan, 
Till hills and woods and sensless things, 

Did seem to sigh and groan. 



Even thus possest with discontents, 

He passed o're to France, 
In hopes from fair Cordelia there, 

To find some gentler chance ; 
Most virtuous dame? which when she heard 

Of this her father's grief, 150 

As duty bound, she quickly sent 

Him comfort and relief: 



And by a train of noble peers, 

In brave and gallant sort, 
She gave in charge he should be brought 

To Aganippus' court ; 
Whose royal king, with noble mind 

So freely gave consent, 
To muster up bis knights at arms, 

To fame and courage bent. 



40 



145 



155 



160 



And so to England came with speed, 

To repossesse King Leir, 
And drive his daughters from their thrones 

By his Cordelia dear. 
Where she, true-heated noble queen, 165 

Was in the battel slain ; 
i ,t be good king, in his old days, 

Poasesl his crown again. 



But when he heard Cordelia's death, 

Who died indeed for love 
Of her dear lather, in whose cause 

She did this hattle move ; 
He swooning fell upon her breast, 

From whence he never parted : 
But on her bosom left his life, 

That W8J SO truly hearted. 

The lords and nobles when they saw 

The end of th"se events, 
The other sisters unto death 

They doomed by consents j 
And being dead, their crowns they left 

Into tin' next of kin : 
Thus have you seen the fall of priae, 

And dieobl dieiit sin. 



70 



175 



1H0 



FROLICKSOME DUKE, OR THE TINKER'S GOOD FORTUNE. 



63 



XVI. 
YOUTH AND AGE 



is found in the little collection of Shake- 
speare's Sonnets, entitled the " Passionate Pil- 
grime*," the greatest part of which seems to relate 
to the amours of Venus and Adonis, heing little 
effusions of fancy, probably written while he was 
composing his larger Poem on that subject. The 
following seems intended for the mouth of Venus, 
weighing the comparative merits of youthful Adonis 
and aged Vulcan. In the " Garland of Good Will" 
it is reprinted, with the addition of four more such 
stanzas, but evidently written hy a meaner pen. 

Crabbed Age and Youth 

Cannot live together ; 
Youth is full of pleasance, 

Age is full of care : 
Youth like summer morn, 5 

Age like winter weather, 



Youth like summer brave, 

Age like winter bare : 
Youth is full of sport, 
Ages breath is short ; 

Youth is nimble, Age is lame 
Youth is hot and bold, 
Age is weak and cold ; 

Youth is wild, and Age is tame. 
Age, I do abhor thee, 
Youth, I do adore thee ; 

O, my love, my love is young : 
Agp, I do defie thee; 
Oh sweet shepheard, hie thee, 

For methinks thou stayst too long. 

*** See Malone's Shakesp. vol. x, p. 325. 



10 



15 



20 



XVII. 
THE FROLICKSOME DUKE, OR THE TINKER'S GOOD FORTUNE. 



The following hallad is upon the same subject, as 
the Induction to Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew : 
whether it may be thought to have suggested the 
hint to the Dramatic poet, or is not rather of later 
date, the reader must determine. 

The story is toldf of Philip the Good, Duke of 
Burgundy ; and is thus related hy an old English 
writer : " The said duke, at the marriage of Eleonora, 
sister to the king of Portugall, at Bruges in Flanders, 
which was solemnised in the deepe of winter ; when 
as by reason of unseasonable weather he could nei- 
ther hawke nor hunt, and was now tired with cards, 
dice, &c. and such other domestick sports, or to see 
ladies dance ; with some of his courtiers, he would 
in the evening walke disguised all about the towne. 
It so fortuned, as he was walking late one night, he 
found a countrey fellow dead drunke, snorting on a 
bulke ; he caused his followers to bring him to his 
palace, and there stripping him of his old clothes, and 
attyring him after the court fashion, when he wakened 
he and they were all ready to attend upon his excel- 
lency, and persuade him that he was some great 
duke. The poor fellow admiring how he came there, 
was served in state all day long : after supper he 
saw them dance, heard musicke, and all the rest of 
those court-like pleasures : but late at night, when 
he was well tipled, and again fast asleepe, they put 
on his old rohes, and so conveyed him to the place 
where they first found him. Now the fellow had 
not made them so good sport the day hefore, as he 
did now, when he returned to himself: all the jest 
was to see how he looked upon it. In conclusion, 
after some little admiration, the poore man told his 
friends he had seen a vision ; constantly believed 
it ; would not otherwise be persuaded, and so the 

* Mentioned above, song xi. b. ii. 

♦ By Ludov. Vives in Epis. aud by Pont. Heuter. Rerura 
Burgund. 1. 4. 



jest ended." Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, pt 
ii. sec. 2. memb. 4. 2d. ed. 1624, fol. 

This ballad is given from a hlack-letter copy in 
the Pepys collection, which is entitled as ahove 
" To the tune of Fond boy." 

Now as fame does report a young duke keeps a court, 
One that pleases his fancy with frolicksome sport : 
But amongst all the rest, here is one I protest, 
Which will make you to smile when you hear the 

true jest : 
A poor tinker he found, lying drunk on the ground, 5 
As secure in a sleep as if laid in a swound. 

The duke said to his men, William, Richard and Ben, 
Take him home to my palace, we'll sport with him 

then. 
O'er a horse he was laid, and with care soon convey 'd 
To the palace, altho' he was poorly arrai'd : 10 

Then they stript off his cloaths, both his shirt, shoes 

and hose, 
And they put him to hed for to take his repose. 

Having pull'd off his shirt, which was all over durt, 
They did give him clean holland, this was no great 

hurt : 
On a bed of soft down, like a lord of renown, 15 
They did lay him to sleep the drink out of his crown. 
In the morning when day, then admiring he lay, 
For to see the rich chamber both gaudy and gay. 

Now he lay something late, in his rich hed of state, 
Till at last knights and squires they on him did 
wait ; 20 

And the chamberlain hare, then did likewise declare, 
He desired to know what apparel he'd ware : 
The poor tinker amaz'd, on the gentleman gaz'd, 
And admired how he to this honour was rais'd. 






Tin: FRIAR OK ORDERS GRAY. 



Mining mats, y«t be ohoM i rich 

be straitways put on without longer dispute i 
\\ it ii s itar on bii noe, a 1 » i * 1 » the tinker ort"t ey'd, 
And it loom'd for to swell bim* no* little with pride; 
Pot be aeid to himielf, When is Jotn my 

i.i her life. 30 

v.-ni.-nt plane, tli.> right duke hie good 
Did obeerre Ins behariour In every case, [grace 

the tinker they wait, 

Trumpets sounding before him i thought he, this is 

34 
h >ur or two, pleasant walks he did view, 
\\itli oommanderi and squires in scarlet and blew. 

A fine dinner was drest,both for himaud his guests, 
He WBS plac'd at the table ahove all the rest, 
In a rich chair ' or bed,' Jin'd with line crimson red, 
With a rich golden canopy over his head: 40 

I a at his meat, the nmsick play'd sweet, 
With the choicest of singing his joys to compleat. 

While the tinker did dine, he had plenty of wine, 
Canary with sherrv and tent superfine. 
iright honeel soul, faith, he took off hisbowl, 45 
Till at bat he began for to tumble and roul [snore, 
From his chair to the floor, where he sleeping did 
D tinies drunker than ever before. 

Then the duke did ordain, they should strip him 
amain, 

him his old leather garments again : 50 



Twas a poin next the worst, yet perform it they 

must, 
And they carry 'd him strait, where they found him 

at first ; 
Then he slept all the night, as indeed well he might; 
But when he did waken, his joys took their flight. 

For his glory ' to him' so pleasant did seem, 55 

That he thought it to be but a meer golden dream ; 
Till at length he was brought to the duke, where he 

sought 
For a pardon, as fearing he had set him at nought ; 
But his highness he said, Thou 'rt a jolly bold blade, 
Such a frolick before I think never was plaid. 60 

Then his highness bespoke him a new suit and cloak. 
Which he gave for the sake of this frolicksome joak ; 
Nay, and five-hundred pound, with ten acres of 

ground. 
Thou shalt never, said he, range the counteries round, 
Crying old brass to mend, for Til be thy good friend,65 
Nay, and Joan thy sweet wife shall my duchess 

attend. 

Then the tinker reply'd, What ! must Joan my sweet 
Be a ladv in chariots of pleasure to ride ? [bride 

Must we have gold and land ev'ry day at command ? 
Then I shall be a squire I well understand : 70 

Weil I thank your good grace, and your love I 

embrace, 
I was never before in so happy a case. 



XVIII. 
T11K FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. 



D .•,:•'. ;, i, Shakespeare's plays are innu- 
-nifiits of ancient ballads, the entire 
of which could not be recovered. Many of 
of the most beautiful and pathetic sun- 
tempted to select some of 
•nh a few supplemental stanzas to con- 

r. ami form them into a little Tale, 

which i^ bare submitted t,, the reader's candour. 

ikea from Beaumont and 

gray 
-.t forth to tall in 
• ^ itb a lad 
' hi a pilgrin 

■ rand firiar, •> 
t,-ll t.i in.-. 

tow should I know row true i >ve 

pi 
- iii. 



[»ll«rlm. Tin 

«•"« "• "•• " I .1,. nil, mi,.,,, 

w irb. 8fa a,.--,, v,.i. v,,,. 






But chiefly by his face and mien, 

That were so fair to view ; 
His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd, 

And eyne of lovely blue. 

() ladv, he is dead and gone ! 

Lady, he's dead ami gone ! 
And at his head a green grass turfe, 

And at his heels a stone. 

Within these holy clovsters long 
He languisht, and he d\ed. 

Lamenting of a ladyes love. 
And playning of her pride. 

Here bore him barefao'd ow his bier 
Six proper youths and tall, 

And many a tear bedew'd his grave 

\\ 1 1 Ii in yon kirk-yard wall. 
And art thon dead, thou gentle youth ! 

And art thou dead and gone ! 

And didst thou dye for love of me ! 
Break, cruel heart of stone! 

() weep not, lady, weep not soe : 
Borne ghostly comfort seek : 

Lei not vain sorrow rive thv heart, 

No tearea bedew thy cheek. 



'J 5 



30 



1> 



THE FRIAR OF 


ORDERS GRAY. 


65 


do not, do not, holy friar, 


And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth, 


My sorrow now reprove ; 


And didst thou dye for mee 1 




For I have lost the sweetest youth, 


Then farewell home ; for ever-more 




That e'er wan ladyes love. 40 


A pilgrim I will bee. 


80 


And nowe, alas ! for thy sad losse, 


But first upon my true-loves grave 
My weary limbs I'll lay, 




I'll evermore weep and sigh : 
For thee I only wisht to live, 
For thee I wish to dye. 


And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf, 
That wraps his breathless clay 






Yet stay, fair lady : rest awhile 


85 


Weep no more, lady, weep no more, 45 


Beneath this cloyster wall : 




Thy sorrowe is in vaine : 


See through the hawthorn blows the cold wind, 


For violets pluckt the sweetest showers 


And drizzly rain doth fall. 




Will ne'er make grow againe. 


stay me not, thou holy friar ; 


■ 


Our joys as winged dreams doe flye, 

Why then should sorrow last ? 50 
Since grief but aggravates thy losse, 


stay me not, I pray ; 
No drizzly rain that falls on me, 
Can wash my fault away. 


90 


Grieve not for what is past. 


Yet stay, fair lady, turn again, 
And dry those pearly tears : 




say not soe, thou holy friar ; 


For see beneath this gown of gray 


95 


I pray thee, say not soe : 


Thy owne true-love appears. 




For since my true-love dyed for mee, 55 
'Tis meet my tears should flow. 


Here forc'd by grief, and hopeless love, 




These holy weeds I sought : 






And here amid these lonely walls 
To end my days I thought. 




And will he ne'er come again ? 
Will he ne'er come again ? 


100 


Ah ! no, he is dead and laid in his grave, 


But haply for my year of grace * 




For ever to remain. 60 


Is not yet past away, 
Might I still hope to win thy love, 




His cheek was redder than the rose ; 


No longer would I stay. 




The comliest youth was he ! 
But he is dead and laid in his grave : 






Nov* farewell grief, and welcome joy 


105 


Alas, and woe is me ! 


Once more unto my heart ; 
For since I have found thee, lovely youth, 




Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more, 65 
Men were deceivers ever : 


We never more will part. 




* # * As the foregoing song has been thought to 


One foot on sea and one on land, 


have suggested to our late excellent poet 


Dr. 


To one thing constant never, 


Goldsmith, the plan of this beautiful ballac 


of 




Edwin and Emma," (first printed in his " \ 


icar 


Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, 


of Wakefield,") it is but justice to his memory to 


And left thee sad and heavy ; 70 


declare, that his poem was written first, and that if 


For young men ever were fickle found, 


there is any imitation in the case, they will be found 


Since summer trees were leafy 


both to be indebted to the beautiful old ballad 




" Gentle Herdsman," &c. printed in this work, 


Now say not soe, thou holy friar, 

I pray thee say not soe ; 
My love he had the truest heart : 75 

he was ever true ! 


which the doctor had much admired in manuscript, 
and has finely improved. See Series the Second, 
book i. song xiv. ver. 37, &c. 


1 • The year of probation, or nov'cia te- 




THE END OF TH 


E SECOND BOOI. 





66 



UN. MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY CHACE. 



SERIES THE FIRST. 
BOOK III. 



I. 



THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY CHACE. 



At the beginning of this volume we gave the old 

origin*] Song of " Chevy Chaos." The reader has 

the mow improved edition of that fine heroic 

ballad. It will afford an agreeable entertainment to 

the curious to compare them together, and to see 

how far the latter bard has excelled his predecessor, 

and whew he has fallen short of him. For though 

he baa everv where improved the versification, and 

:llv the sentiment and diction; yet some few 

retain more dignity in the ancient copy ; 

...- ]■ asl the obsoleteness of the style serves as a veil 

to hide whatever might appeal too familiar or vulgar 

. ii. 1 bos, for instance, the catastrophe of the 

gallant Witherington is in the modern copy exprest 

:ns whiofa never fail at present to excite 

ridicule : whereas in the original it is related with a 

plain and pathetic simplicity, that is liable to no 

neb uiiluckv effort ! See the stanza in page 4, 

which, in modem orthography, &c. would run 

thus : 

" For Witherington my heart is woe, 
That ever he slain should be: 
For when his legs were hewn in two 
He knelt and fought on bis knee." 

the Stanza which describes the fall of 
somewhat more elevated in the 

ancient copy : 

" The dint it was both sad and sore, 

II. on Montgomery set : 

1 ra his arrow here 

With his hearts blood were wet."' 
\\ i add, that the circumstances of the 

mow clearly conceived, and the several 
incident! mora distinctly marked in the old original, 
than in the improved copy a It is well known thai 
tin- ancient English weapon was the long bow, and 
this nation excelled all others in archery ; 
while the - •• ■ warrionn chiefl] depended on 
• the ■pear: this characteristic difference 

IX incienl hard, whose description 
of t! • bO thfl follow in;' Hi. ct : 

" I!., proposal of 'I"- two gallant saris to de- 

! be, who stood e its their 

Berm] rlisM barge of their 

i men of the 
enen>v i Dot, • • ■ • re a loss, 

1 1 d. He 

divided In to three columns, who 

u k • I lisfa bad discharged the first 

• clow n upon them with then- s|. ( srs, and 
reduced then, i. 
upon tin-, dropt their i>..w - 

and i ■ folio* eel 



so sharp a conflict, that multitudes on hoth sid 
lost their lives." In the midst of this general 
engagement, at length, the two great earls meet. 
and after a spirited rencounter agree to breathe ; 
upon which a parley ensues, that would do honour 
to Homer bimself. 

Nothing can be more pleasingly distinct and cir- 
cumstantial than this : whereas, the modern copy, 
though in general it has great merit, is here unluckily 
both confused and ohscure. Indeed the original 
words seem here to have been totally misunderstood. 
" Yet bydya the verl Douglas upon the Bent" evi- 
dentlv signifies, " Yet the earl Douglas abides in the 
Field :" Whereas the more modern bard seems to 
have understood bv Bent, the inclination of his 
mind, and accordingly runs quite off from the sub- 
ject*. 

" To drive the deer with hound and horn 

Earl Douglas had the bent." v. 109. 

One may also observe a generous impartiality in 
the old original bard, when in the conclusion of his 
tale he represents both nations as quitting the field, 
without any reproachful reflection on either : though 
he gives to his own countrymen the credit of being 
the smaller number. 

" Of fifteen hundred archers of England 
Went away but fifty and three ; 
Of twenty hundred spearmen of Scotland, 
But even five and fifty." 

He attributes flight to neither party, as hath been 
done in the modern copies of this ballad, as well 
Scotch as English. For, to be even with our latter 
bard, who makes the Scots to flee, some reviser of 
North Britain has turned his own arms against him, 
and printed an edition at Glasgow, in which the 
lines are thus transposed: 

" Of fifteen hundred Scottish spiers 

\\ « nt name but fifty-three : 

of twenty hundred Englishmen 

Scarce- fifty-five did flee." 

And to countenance this change be has suppressed 

the two Stansas between ver. 240 and ver. 2-19. 

From that edition I have here reformed the Scottish 
names, which in the modern English ballad ap- 
peared to he' corrupted. 

W hen 1 call the present admired ballad modern, I 
only mean that it is comparatively so ; for that it 



• In iIh present edition, Instead of the unmeaning lines 
here censored, sn Insertion is made of four stanzas modem 
I/.. i hem tin- ancient couy. 



THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CTIEVY-CHACE. 



67 



could not be writ much later than the time of Queen 
Elizabeth, I think may be made appear ; nor yet does 
it seem to be older than the beginning of the last cen- 
| tury*. Sir Philip Sidney, when he complains of the 
antiquated phrase of "Chevy-chace," could never have 
seen this improved copy, the language of which is not 
more ancient than that he himself used. It is proba- 
ble that the encomiums of so admired a writer excited 
some bard to revise the ballad, and to free it from 
those faults he had objected to it. That it could not 
be much later than that time, appears from the phrase 
" Doleful Dumps ;" which in that age carried no 
ill sound with it, but to the next generation became 
ridiculous. We have seen it pass uncensured in a 
sonnet that was at that time in request, and where 
it could not fail to have been taken notice of, had it 
been in the least exceptionable : see above, b. ii. 
song v. ver. 2 : Yet, in about half a century after, it 
was become burlesque. Vide Hudibras, pt. i. c. 3, 
v. 95. 

This much premised, the reader that would seethe 
general beauties of thvs ballad set in a just and 
striking light, may consult the excellent criticism of 
Mr. Addisonf. With regard to its subject : it has 
already been considered in page 1st. The conjec- 
tures there offered will receive confirmation from a 
passage in the Memoirs of Carey Earl of Monmouth, 
8vo, 1759, p. 165 ; whence we learn that it was an 
ancient custom with the borderers of the two king- 
doms, when they were at peace, to send to the Lord 
Wardens of the opposite Marches for leave to hunt 
within their districts. If leave was granted, then 
towards the end of summer they would come and 
hunt for several days together "with their Grey- 
hounds for Deer :" but if they took this liberty un- 
permitted, then the Lord Warden of the border so 
invaded, would not fail to interrupt their sport and 
chastise their boldness. He mentions a remarkable 
instance that happened while he was Warden, when 
some Scotch Gentlemen coming to hunt in defiance 
of him, there must have ensued such an action as 
this of Chevy Chace, if the intruders had been pro- 
portionably numerous and well-armed : for, upon 
their being attacked by his men at arms, he tells us, 
" some hurt was done, tho' he had given especiall 
order that they should shed as little blood as pos- 
sible." They were in effect overpowered and taken 
prisoners, and only released on their promise to ab- 
stain from such licentious sporting for the future. 

The following text is given from a copy in the 
Editor's folio MS. compared with two or three others 
printed in black-letter — In the second volume of 
Dryden's Miscellanies may be found a translation of 
Chevy-Chace into Latin Rymes. The translator, 
Mr. Henry Bold, of New College, undertook it at 
the command of Dr. Compton, bishop of London ; 

* A late writer has started a notion that the more modern 
copy " was written to be sung by a party of English, headed 
by a Douglas in the year 1524 ; which is the true reason 
why, at the same time that it gives the advantage to the 
English soldiers above the Scotch, it gives yet so lovely and 
so manifestly superior a character to the Scotch commander 
above the English." See Say's Essay on the Numbers of 
Paradise Lost, 4to, 1745, p. 167. 

This appears to me a groundless conjecture ; the language 
seems too modern for the date above mentioned ; and, had it 
been printed even so early a= Queen Elizabeth's reign, I think 
I should have met with some copy wherein the first line 
would have beeu, 

God prosper long our noble queen, 
as wa3 the case with the Blind Beggar of Bednal Green; see 
Series the Second, No. x. ver. 23. 

t In the Spectator, No. 70. 74. 



who thought it no derogation to his episcopal cha- 
racter, to avow a fondness for this excellent old 
ballad. See the preface to Bold's Latin Songs, 
1685, 8vo. 



Gon prosper lon< 



noble kin. 



10 



Our lives and safetyes all ; 
A woefull hunting once there did 
In Chevy-Chace befall j 

To drive the deere with hound and home, 

Erie Percy took his way, 
The child may rue that is unborne, 

The hunting of that day. 

The stout Erie of Northumberland 

A vow to God did make, 
His pleasure in the Scottish woods 

Three summers days to take ; 

The cheefest harts in Chevy-chace 

To kill and beare away. 
These tydings to Erie Douglas came, 

In Scottland where he lay : 

Who sent Erie Percy present word, 

He w ould prevent his sport. 
The English Erie, not fearing that, 

Did to the woods resort. 

With fifteen hundred bow-men bold ; 

All chosen men of might, 
Who knew full well in time of neede 

To ayme their shafts aright. 

The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran, 

To chase the fallow deere : 
On munday they began to hunt, 

Ere day-light did appeare ; 

And long before high noone they had 

An hundred fat buckes slaine ; 
Then having dined, the drovyers went 

To rouze the deare againe. 

The bow-men mustered on the hills, 

Well able to endure ; 
Theire backsides all, with speciall care, 

That day were guarded sure. 

The hounds ran swiftly through the woods, 

The nimble deere to take*, 
That with their cryes the hills and dales 

An eccho shrill did make. 40 

Lord Percy to the quarry went, 

To view the slaughter'd deere ; 
Qouth he, Erie Douglas promised 

This day to meet me heere : 

Ver. 36, Tliat they were, fol. MS. 
* The Chiviot Hills and circumjacent Wastes are at pre- 
sent void of Deer, and almost stript of their woods; but 
formerly they had enough of both to justify the description 
attempted here and in the Ancient Ballad of Chevy Chase. 
Leyland, in the reign of Hen. VIII, thus describes this 
county : " In Northumberland, as I heare say, be no forests, 
except Chivei Hills; where is much Brushe-Wood, and 
some Okke; Grownde ovargrowne with Linge, and some 
with Mosse. I have harde say that Chivet Hills stretchethe 
xx miles. There is greate Plente of Redde-Dere, and 

Roo Bukkes." Itin. vol. vii. p. 56. This passage, 

which did not occur when pages 6 7, were printed off, 
confirm the accounts there given of the Stagge and the 
Roe. 



€0 



25 



30 



35 



68 



THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHACE. 



But if I tin •. 
\ ■ 

that, a bnr. enth-man 

Loe, yonder doth Erie DoogfaM coin.', 

Hi> iii.-n in armour bright ; 

Full twenty bvndrad Beottub - 

All marching in uur sight ; 

All men of pleasant Tivydale, 
• by DM river 1 D I I 

. - q rtS| Erie Percy said, 
And take your bowes with speede • 

And now with me, mv countrymen, 
Your courage forth advance ; 

For there was never champion yett 
Ii: Scotland or in France, 

TVjkI ever did on horsebacke come, 

But if my hap it were, 
T durst encounter man for man, 

With him to break a spere. 

Erie Douglas on his milke-white steede, 

Most like a baron bold, 
Rode formost of his company, 

Whose armour shone like gold. 

Show me, savd hee, whose men you bee, 

That hunt soe boldlv heere, 
That, without my consent, doe chase 

And kill my fallow-deere. 

The first man that did answer make 
\\ as noble Percy hee ; 

r.d. Wee list IIOl to declare, 
whose men wee bee ■ 

'i • tree will ipend our decreet blood, 
. ii berte to slav. 
D ... - '■■■ • •■ ■ -olcmpne oatbe 
And thus in rage did say, 

1 will out-braved bee, 
r\\ .-.hall d 

! know tbee well, n erle thou art ; 

. , MM am I. 
Hut tr. v. ptttye u were 

: L'r«-at ouViu •' to kill 

• • our railtiessf nun, 

•hry btre aom do QL 
nd 1 dbe betteD t- 

iyd, 

iht f>rth, 
\\ it!.- 

told 

J , 

Ai 

I 



55 



65 



to 



75 



H) 



Bi 



90 



95 



too 



He doe the best that doe I may, 

While 1 have power to stand : 
While I have power to weeld my sword, 

He fight with hart and hand. 

Our English archers bent their bowes, 105 

Their harts were good and trew ; 
Att the first flight of arrowes sent, 

Full four-score Scots they slew. 

* [Yet bides Earl Douglas on the beat. 

As Chieftan stout and good. 110 

As valiant Captain, all unmov'd 
The shock he firmly stood. 

His host he parted had in three, 

As Leader ware and try'd. 
And soon his spearmen on their foes 115 

Bare down on every side. 

* The four stanzas here inclosed in brackets, 
which are borrowed chiefly from the ancient copy, 
are offered to the reader instead of the following 
lines, which occur in the editor's folio MS. 

To drive the deere with hound and home, 

Douglas bade on the bent ; 
Two captaines moved with mickle might 

Their speres to shivers went. 

Throughout the English archery 

They dealt full many a wound : 
But still our valiant Englishmen 

All firmly kept their ground : 120 

And throwing strait their bows away, 
They grasp'd their swords so bright : 

And now sharp blows, a heavy shower, 
On shields and helmets light.] 

They closed full fast on everye side, 125 

Noe slacknes there was found ; 
And many a gallant gentleman 

Lay gasping on the ground. 

Christ ! it was a griefe to see, 

And likewise for to heare, 130 

The cries of men lying in their gore, 
And scattered here and there. 

At last these two stout erles did meet, 

Like captaines of great might: 
Like lvons wood, they l»yd on lode, 135 

And made a cruell fight : 

'1 hey fought untill they both did sweat, 
W ith swords of tempered Steele ; 

1 ntil the blood, like drops of rain, 

J hey trickling downe did feele. 140 

Yeehl thee. Lord Percy, Douglas sayd ; 

n faith I will thee hringe, 
When- thou shalt high advanced bee 

By Jamee our Scottish king: 

I hv rttMOme I will freely give, 145 

And this report of thee, 
i hon art the most couragious knight, 
That ever 1 did see. 



THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHACE. 



69 



Noe, Douglas, quoth Erie Percy then, 

Thy proffer I doe scorne ; 150 

I will not yeelde to any Scott, 
That ever yett was home. 

With that, there came an arrow keene 

Out cf an English how, 
Which struck Erie Douglas to the heart, 155 

A deepe and deadly e hlow : 

Who never spake more words than these, 

Fight on, my merry men all ; 
For why, my life is at an end ; 

Lord Percy sees my fall. 160 

Then leaving liffe, Erie Percy tooke 

The dead man by the hand ; 
And said, Erie Douglas, for thy life 

Wold I had lost my land. 

O Christ ! my verry hart doth hleed 165 

With sorrow for thyvsake ; 
For sure, a more redoubted knight 

Mischance cold never take. 

A knight amongst the Scotts there was, 

Which saw Erie Douglas dye, 170 

Who streight in wrath did vow revenge 
Upon the Lord Percye : 

Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he call'd, 

Who, with a spere most hright, 
Well-mounted on a gallant steed, 175 

Ran fiercely through the fight ; 

And past the English archers all, 

Without all dread or feare ; 
And through Erie Percyes body then 

He thrust his hatefull spere ; 180 

With such a vehement force and might 

He did his hody gore, 
The staff ran through the other side 

A large cloth-yard, and more. 

So thus did hoth these nobles dye, 185 

Whose courage none could staine : 
An English archer then perceiv'd 

The nohle erle was slaine ~, 

He had a how Dent in his hand, 

Made of a trusty tree ; 190 

An arrow of a cloth-yard long 

Up to the head drew hee : 

Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye, 

So right the shaft he sett, 
The grey goose-wing that was thereon, 195 

In his harts hlood was wett. 

This fight did last from hreak of day, 

Till setting of the sun ; 
For when they rung the evening-hell*, 

The battle scarce was done. 200 

* Sc. the Curfew bell, usually rung at eieht o'clock ; to which 
the modernizer apparently alludes, instead of the " Evensong 
bell," or bell for vespers of the original author, before the 
Reformation. Vide supra pag. 4, v. 97. 



With stout Erie Percy, there was slaine 

Sir John of Egerton*, 
Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John, 

Sir James that bold harron : 

And with Sir George and stout Sir James, 205 

Both knights of good account, 
Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine, 

Whose prowesse did surmount 

For Witherington needs must I wayle, 

As one in doleful dumpes t; 210 

For when his leggs were smitten off, 
He fought upon his stumpes, 

And with Erie Douglas, there was slaine 

Sir Hugh Mountgomerye, 
Sir Charles Murray, that from the feeld 215 

One foote wold never flee. 

Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too, 

His sisters sonne was hee ; 
Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd, 

Yet saved cold not bee. 220 

And the Lord Maxwell in like case 

Did with Erie Douglas dye : 
Of twenty hundred Scottish speres 

Scarce fifty-five did flye. 

Of fifteen hundred Englishmen, 225 

Went home hut fifty three ; 
The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chase, 

Under the greene woode tree. 

Next day did many widowes come; 

Their hushands to hewayle 230 

They washt their wounds in brinish teares, 

But all wold not prevayle. 

Theyr Dodyes, bathed in purple gore, 

They hare with them away : 
They kist them dead a thousand times, 235 

Ere they were cladd in clay. 

The newes was hrought to Eddenborrow, 

Where Scottlands king did raigne, 
That hrave Erie Douglas suddenlye 

Was with an arrow slaine : 240 

heavy newes, King James did say, 
Scottland may witnesse hee, 

1 have not any captaine more 

Of such account as hee. 

Like tydings to King Henry came, 245 

Within as short a space, 
That Percy of Northumberland 

Was slaine in Chevy-Chase : 

Now God be with him, said our kirjg, 

Sith it will noe hetter bee ; 250 

I trust I have, within my realme, 
Five hundred as good as hee : 



* For the surnames, see the Notes at the end of the Bal- 
lad. 

+ i. e. " I, as one in deep concern, must lament." The con- 
struction here has generally been misunderstood. The old 
MS. reads wofull dumpes. 






M \ I H*8 i INAL CONQUEST. 



• ike : 

I'll ^ ■<• ii th. in all, 

Fur bl 

I lii^ row full well tin- king perfonn'd 
i [umbledowne : 

w .-.. I tdi of great noon a 260 

Ami of the 11 account, 

1 >i.l nant thoueanda dye : 
l ii endeth the banting of Chew-Chase, 
.<• by the Erie Percy. 

BT king, nd bless this land 265 

\\ itli plentye, joy, and peace ; 
And grant henceforth, that foule debate 
' I v. i\t noblemen may cease. 

• Since the former impression of these volumes 

balk been published, a new edition of Collins's 

. ix. vols. 8vo. which contains, in 

rolome ii. p. SS4, an historical passage, which may 

be thought to throw considerable light on the sub- 

tne preceding Ballad : viz. 
. . this . . . year, 1 l3o, according to Hector 
as, was fought the battle of IVpperden, not 

iir from the Cheviot Hills, between the Earl of 
imberland [lid Karl, son of Hotspur,] and 
W ilbani Douglas, Of Angus, with a small army 
it four thousand men each, in which the 
bad the advantage. As this seems to have 
I j. mate conflict between these two great 

( hieftains of the Borders, rather than a national war, 

I B thooght to have given rise to the cele- 

old ballad of Chevy-Chase ; which, to render 

it mors path, tic and interesting, has been heightened 

with tragical incidents wholly fictitious." [See 
•It lli^t. Jto, p. 401.] 
ramamaa in the foregoing ballad are altered, 

either by accident ox deaign, from the old original 

md in common editions extremely corrupted. 
• Mtied, as much as they could be. 

.. 1 I Ins name is re-tored (in- 

oom. ed. i from the Editor's folio 
M - ! I ■■ piaoai ia that IIS. ippeai to have bean 



collected, and many of them composed (among which 
might be this ballad) by an inhabitant of Cheshire : 
w bo was willing to pay a compliment here to one of 
his countrymen, of the eminent family De or Of 
Egerton (so the name was first written) ancestors of 
the present Duke of Bridgwater; and this he could 
do with the more propriety, as the Percies had for- 
merly great interest in that county : At the fatal 
battle of Shrewsbury, all the flower of the Cheshire 
gentlemen lost their lives fighting in the cause of 
Hotspur. 

Yer. 203. Ratcliff.] This was a family much dis- 
tinguished in Xortumberland. Edw. Radcliffe mil. 
was sheriff of that county in 17 of Hen. VII, and 
others of the same surname afterwards. (See Fuller, 
p. 313.) Sir George RatclifF, Knt. was one of the 
commissioners of inclosure in 1552. (See Nicholson, 
p. 330.) Of this family was the late Earl of Der- 
wentwater.who was beheaded in 1715. The Editor's 
folio IMS. however, reads here, Sir Robert Harcliffe 
and Sir "William. 

The Harcleys were am errinent family in Cumber- 
land. (See Fuller, p. 224.) "Whether this may be 
thought to be the same name, I do not determine. 

Ver. 204-. Baron.] This is apparently altered (not 
to say corrupted) from Hearone, in p. 4, ver. 114. 

Ver. 207. Raby.~] This might be intended to cele- 
brate one of the ancient possessors of Raby Castle, 
in the county of Durham. Yet it is written Reb- 
bve, in the fol. IMS. and looks like a corruption of 
Rugby or Rokeby, an eminent family in Yorkshire, 
See p. 4, p. 9. It will not be wondered that the 
Percies should be thought to bring followers out of 
that county, where they themselves were originally 
seated, and had always such extensive property and 
influence. 

Yer. 215. Murray.'] So the Scottish copy. In 
the com. edit, it is Carrel or Currel ; and Morrell in 
the fol. MS. 

Yer.. 217. Mu rroy.] So the Scot, ed it.— The com- 
mon copies read Murrel. The fol. MS. gives the 
line in the following peculiar manner, 

" Sir Roger Heuer of Harcliffe too." 

Yer. 219. Lome.] The folio MS. has. 

" Sir Dai id Lnmbuell, ue LI esteemed ." 
This seems evidently corrupted from Lwdale or 
Liddell, in the old copy, seepages 1-9. 



II. 

DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. 



!\ intruded 

Shir- 
\ ax and I lj 

imatioa ritet 

i l»it )„- outlived the 
llw dcatlihap] 

>v of 

to have bean 
rleall. 



'I he glorias of our birth and state 

Are shadows, not substantial things; 

1 here is no armour against fate : 
Death lays bis icy hands on kings: 

Boepter end crown 

Musi tumble down, 
Ami in tne dual be equal made 
\\ ith the poor crooked scythe and spade. 

Some man arith swords may reap the field, 
And plain fresh laurels where they kill , 



10 



THE RISING IN THE NORTH. 



71 



But their strong nerves at last must yield ; 
They tame hut one another still. 
Early or late 
They stoop to fate, 
And must give up their murmuring breath, 
When they pale captives creep to death. 

The garlands wither on your brow, 

Then boast no more your mighty deeds : 



15 



Upon death's purple altar now 

See where the victor victim bleeds 

All heads must come 

To the cold tomb, 
Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust. 



20 



III. 



THE RISING IN THE NORTH. 



The subject of this ballad is the great Northern 
Insurrection in the 12th year of Elizabeth, 1569 ; 
which proved so fatal to Thomas Percy, the seventh 
Earl of Northumberland. 

There had not long tfefore been a secret negocia- 
tion entered into between some of the Scottish and 
English nobility, to bring about a marriage between 
Mary Queen of Scots, at that time a prisoner, in 
England, and the Duke of Norfolk, a nobleman of 
excellent character, and firmly attached to the Pro- 
testant religion. This match was proposed to all 
the most considerable of the English nobility, and 
among the rest to the Earls of Northumberland and 
Westmoreland, two noblemen very powerful in the 
north. As it seemed to promise a speedy and safe 
conclusion of the troubles in Scotland, with many 
advantages to the crown of England, they all con- 
sented to it, provided it should prove agreeable to 
Queen Elizabeth. The Earl of Leicester (Elizabeth's 
favourite) undertook to break the matter to her ; 
but before he could find an opportunity, the affair 
had come to her ears by other hands, and she was 
thrown into a violent flame. The Duke of Norfolk, 
with several of his friends, was committed to the 
Tower, and summons were sent to the northern 
earls instantly to make their appearance at court. 
It is said that the Earl of Northumberland, who was 
a man of a mild and gentle nature, was deliberating 
with himself whether he should not obey the mes- 
sage, and rely upon the queen's candour and cle- 
mency, when he was forced into desperate measures 
by a sudden report at midnight, Nov. 14, that a 
party of his enemies were come to seize on his per- 
son *. The earl was then at his house at Topcliffe 
in Yorkshire. When rising hastily out of bed, he 
withdrew to the Eari of Westmoreland, at Brance- 
peth, where the country came in to them, and pressed 
them to take arms in their own defence. They 
accordingly set up their standards, declaring their 
latent was to restore the ancient religion, to get the 
succession of the crown firmly settled, and to pre- 
vent the destruction of the ancient nobility, &c. 
Their common banner f (on which was displayed 
the cross, together with the five wounds of Christ,) 
was borne by an ancient gentleman, Richard Norton, 
Esq. of Norton-conyers : who with his sons (among 
whom, Christopher, Marmaduke, and Thomas, are 
expressly named by Camden), distinguished himself 
on this occasion. Having entered Durham, they 



* This circumstance is overlooked in the ballad. 
Besides this, the ballad mentions the separate banners of 
the two noblemen. 



tore the Bible, &c, and caused mass to be said 
there : they then marched on to Clifford Moor near 
Wetherbye, where they mustered their men. Their 
intention was to have proceeded on to York ; but, 
altering their minds, thev fell upon Barnard's castle, 
which Sir George Bowes held out against them for 
eleven days. The two earls, who spent their large 
estates in hospitality, and were extremely beloved 
on that account, were masters of little ready money, 
the Earl of Northumberland bringing with him 
only 8000 crowns, and the Earl of Westmoreland 
nothing at all for the subsistence of their forces, 
they were not able to march to London, as they had 
at first intended. In these circumstances, West- 
moreland began so visibly to despond, that many of 
his men slunk away, though Northumberland still 
kept up his resolution, and was master of the field 
till December 13, when the Earl of Sussex, accom- 
panied with Lord Hunsden and others, having 
marched out of York at the head of a large body of 
forces, and being followed by a still larger army 
under the command of Ambrose Dudley, Earl of 
Warwick, the insurgents retreated northward to- 
wards the borders, and their dismissing their fol- 
lowers, made their escape into Scotland. Though 
this insurrection had been suppressed with so little 
bloodshed, the Earl of Sussex aud Sir George 
Bowes marshal of the army put vast numbers to 
death by martial law, without any regular trial. The 
former of these caused at Durham sixty-three con- 
stables to be hanged at once. And the latter made 
his boast, that, for sixty miles in length, and forty 
in breadth, betwixt Newcastle and Wetherby,. there 
was hardly a town or village wherein he had not 
executed some of the inhabitants. This exceeds 
the cruelties practised in the west after Monmouth's 
rebellion : but that was not the age of tenderness 
and humanity. 

Such is the account collected from Stow, Speed, 
Camden, Guthrie, Carte, and Rapin ; it agrees in 
most particulars with the following ballad, which 
was apparently the production of some northern 
minstrel, who was well affected to the two noble- 
men. It is here printed from two MS. copies, one 
of them in the editor's folio collection. They con- 
tained considerable variations, out of which such 
readings were chosen as seemed most poetical and 
consonant to history. 

Listen, lively lordings all, 

Lithe and listen unto mee, 
And I will sing of a noble earJ<% 

The noblest earle in the north countrie. 



n 



THE RISING IN THE NORTH. 



lVrcy is into his cnrden pone. 
Ami alter hini v 
1 heard a liinl smc in BUM HHj 
lhat 1 must either tik'ht, or flee. 

■••ml, my dearest lord, 
.rh harm should hap to thee : 
Hut got to London BO the court, 
And taire fall truth and honestie. 

Now nay, now nay. my ladye gay. 
Alas ! thv counsell suits not mee ; 
t;i>t, 
at CM court I may not bee. 

BO BM court yet, pood my lord, 
And BMf thv gallant men with thee ; 

doe you wrong, 
1 lun vour warrant they may bee. 

Now nav, now nay, thou lady faire, 

The court is full of subtiltie; 
And if I poe to the court, lady, 
r more I may thee see. 

• to the court, my lord, she sayes, 
! inv.selie will ride wi' thee : 
Ul then for my dearest lord, 
Hi* luithfull horrowe 1 will bee. 

i\, now nav, my lady deare; 
For ltver had 1 lose my life, 
'Mian h-ave among my cruell foes 
Bit lore ID jeopardy and strife, 

But come thou hither my little foot-page, 

Come thou hither unto mee, 
To Mister Norton thou must goe 

In all the haste that ever may bee. 

' .nil me to that gentleman, 

thil letter here fro mee; 

.-•>tlv I pr;r 
Ih- will rjdfl in my companie. 

lie the little foot-Mge Went, 
uioth.-r « lnle he ran ; 
I ntill lie r Line to his journeys end 
I M Man. 

When to tMl '/>-ntl<-man he came, 

■ U he kneeled on Ins knee; 

■ • lettOf betH i\t his hands, 
•itleiuan it 

.'.)„ ii tM V • redd 

:i\e oompej 

BM trutlie w Old know, 

'hither, Christopher Norton, 

A i tliou teens! to I 

mine, 

Jeoperdj '. 

Hid free ; 
lord, 
i bin von • 
I not huve you hretike Jftjajj word. 



* 



10 



15 



SO 



85 



30 



S5 



40 



45 



.so 






Gramercy, Christopher, my sonne, 
Thv counsell well it liketh mee, 

And if we speed and scape with life, 
Well advanced shalt thou bee. 

Come you hither, mine nine good sonnes, 
Gallant men I trowe you bee : 

How many of you, my children deare, 
Will stand by that good erle and me? 

Eight of them did answer make, 

Eight of them spake bastilie, 
O father, till the daye we dye 

We'll stand by that good erle and thee. 



65 



70 



Gramercy now, my children deare, 

You showe yourselves right bold and brave ; 
And whethersoe'er I live or dye, 75 

A fathers blessing you shal have. 



But what sayst thou, O Francis Norton, 
That art mine eldest sonn and heire • 

Somewhat lyes brooding in thy breast ; 
Whatever it bee, to mee declare. 



Father, you are an aged man, 

Your head is white, your bearde is gray ; 
It were a shame at these your yeares 

For you to ryse in such a fray. 

Now fye upon thee, coward Francis, 
Thou never learnedst this of mee : • 

When thou wert yong and tender of age, 
Why did I make soe much of thee 1 

But, father, I will wend with you, 
Unarm'd and naked will I bee ; 

And he that strikes against the crowne, 
Ever an ill death may he dee. 

Then rose that reverend gentleman, 
And with him came a goodlye band 

To join with the brave Erie Percy, 
And all the flower o' Northumberland. 

With them the noble Nevill came, 
The erle of Westmorland was hee : 

At Wetherbye they mustred their host, 
Thirteen thousand faire to see. 

Lord Westmorland his ancyent raisde, 
The Dun Bull he rays'd on hye, 

Ami three Dogs with golden collars 
Were there sett out most royally 6 *. 



80 



85 



90 



95 



100 






• Ycr. 10-2. Dun Hull &c.l The supporters of the Nevilles 
Barll Of \\ estmoreland were Two Bulls Argent, ducally col- 
lu'.l gold, wined Or, &C But I have not discovered the 
device mentioned In the ballad, among the badges, &c. given 
by that house. This however is certain, that, among those 
Of the Nevilles, Lord Abergavenny, (who were of the same 
family,) is ■ dun cow with a golden collar; and the Ne- 
\ill.v of Chyte In Yorkshire (of the Westmoreland branch) 
m\. i.. i tnrir crest, in 1513, a dog's (greyhound's) head 
. rued. Bo thai it la not improbable but Charles Neville, the 
Dnhappy Karl of Westmoreland here mentioned, might on 
this occasion give the above device on his banner — Alter all, 
..in old minstrel's verses here may have undergone some 
corruption; for, In another ballad in the same folio MS. and 
apparent!) written by the same hand, containing the sequel 
.i this Lord Westmoreland's history, his banner is thus de 

• . i ii.. ,i, more confni mable to his known bearings: 
"Set me no vi tj /aire Dun Hull, 

With Glisten Hornet, hee beares all soe hye." 



NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS. 



73 



Erie Percy there Ins aricyent spred, 105 

The Halfe-Moone shining all soe faire * : 

The Nortons ancyent had the crosse, 
And the five wounds our Lord did beare. 

Then Sir George Bowes he straitwaye rose, 
After them some spoyle to make : 110 

Those noble erles turn'd backe againe, 
And aye they vowed that knight to take. 

That baron he to his castle fled, 

To Barnard castle then fled hee. 
The uttermost walles were eathe to win, 115 

The earles have wonne them presentlie. 

The uttermost walles were lime and bricke ; 

But thoughe they won them soon anone, 
Long e'er they wan the innermost walles, 

For they were cut in rocke of stone. 120 

Then newes unto leeve London came 
In all the speede that ever might bee, 

And word is brought to our royall queene 
Of the rysing in the North countrie. 

Her grace she turned her' round about, f25 

And like a royall queene shee swore t» 

I will ordayne them such a breakfast, 
As never was in the North before. 



Shee caus'd thirty thousand men berays'd, 

With horse and harneis faire to see ; 130 

She caused thirty thousand men be raised, 
To take the earles i' th' North countrie. 

Wi' them the false Erie Warwick went, 
Th' Erie Sussex and the Lord Hunsden ; 

Untill they to Yorke castle came 

I wiss, they never stint ne blan. 135 

Now spred thy ancyent, Westmorland, 
Thy dun bull faine would we spye : 

And thou, the Erie o' Northumberland, 

Now rayse thy half moone up on hye. 140 

But the dun bulle is fled and gone, 
And the halfe moone vanished away : 

The Erles, though they were brave and bold, 
Against soe many could not stay. 

Thee, Norton, wi' thine eight good sonnes, 145 
They doom'd to dye, alas ! for ruth ! 

Thy reverend lockes thee could not save, 
Nor them their faire and blooming youthe. 

Wi' them full many a gallant wight 

They cruellye bereav'd of life : 150 

And many a childe made fatherlesse, 

And widowed many a tender wife. 



IV. 



NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS. 



' This ballad may be considered as the sequel of 
the preceding. After the unfortunate Earl of Nor- 
thumberland had seen himself forsaken of his fol- 
lowers, he endeavoured to withdraw into Scotland, 
but falling into the hands of the thievish borderers, 
was stript and otherwise ill-treated by them. At 
length he reached the house of Hector, of Harlaw, 
an Armstrong, with whom he hoped to lie concealed : 
for Hector had engaged his honour to be true to 
him, and was under great obligations to this unhappy 
nobleman. But this faithless wretch betrayed his 
guest for a sum of money to Murray the Regent of 



* Ver. 106. The Halfe-Moone, &c] The Silver Crescent 
is a well-known crest or badge of the Northumberland family. 
It was probably brought home from some of the crusades 
against the Sarazens. In an ancient pedigree in verse, finely 
illuminated on a roll of vellum, and written in the reign of 
Henry VII, (in possession of the family,) we have this fabu- 
lous account given of its original. — The author begins with 
accounting for the name of Gernon or Algernon, often borne 
by the Perries; who, he says, were 

Gernons fyrst named Brutys bloude of Troy : 

Which valliantly fyghlyngein the land of Perse [Persia] I 
At pointe terrible ayance the miscreants on nyght, | 

An hevynly mystery was schewyd hym, old bookys re- \ 

herse ; 
In hys scheld did schyne a Mone veryfying her lyght, 
Whych to all the ooste gave a perfytte fyght, 
To vaynquys his enemys, and to deth them persue ; 
And therefore the Perses [Percies] the Cressant doth 
renew. 
In the dark ages no family was deemed considerable that 
did not derive its descent from the Trajan Brutus; or that 
was not distinguished by prodigies and miracles. 

t This is quite in ch racter : her majesty would sometimes 
swear at her nobles, as well as box their ears. 



Scotland> who sent him to the castle of Loughleven, 
then belonging to William Douglas. — All the writers 
of that time assure us, that Hector, who was rich 
before, fell shortly after into poverty, and became so 
infamous, that to take Hector's cloak, grew into a 
proverb to express a man who betrays his friend. 
See Camden, Carleton, Holingshed, &c. 

Lord Northumberland continued in the castle of 
Lough -leven till the year 1572 ; when James 
Douglas Earl of Morton being elected Regent, he 
was given up to the Lord Hunsden at Berwick, and 
being carried to York suffered death. As Morton's 
party depended on Elizabeth for protection, an ele- 
gant historian thinks " it was scarce possible for 
them to refuse putting into her hands a person who 
had taken up arms against her. But as a sum of 
money was paid on that account, and shared be- 
tween Morton and his kinsman Douglas, the former 
of whom, during his exile in England, had been 
much indebted to Northumberland's friendship, the 
abandoning this unhappy nobleman to inevitable 
destruction, was deemed an ungrateful and merce- 
nary act." Robertson's Hist. 

So far History coincides with this ballad, which 
was apparently written by some northern bard soon 
after the event. The interposal of the " Witch- 
Lady" (v. 53,) is probably his own invention : yet. 
even this hath some countenance from history ; for, 
about twenty-five years before, the Lady Jane 
Douglas, Lady Glamis, sister of the Earl of Angus, 
and nearly related to Douglas of Lough-leven, had 
suffered death for the pretended crime of witchcraft , 



: I 



NORTHUMBERLAND P.ETRAYED BY DOUGLAS 



3 I 



it is presumed, is the Witch-lady alluded to in 

Hm following is selected (like the former) from 

•pies, irhieh eontsined great variations ; one 

of them in the Editor*! folio M>. In tin' other copy 

of the stansss st the beginning of tin's Ballad 
se with what in that .MS. are made 
u another Ballad on the escape of the Earl of 
lOraland, who got safe into Flanders, and is 
1 in the ballad to Lave undergone a great 
I ventures. 

long shall fortune fade me nowe, 
And bsrrowe me with fear and dread' 
How long ahall I in hale abide, 
Jn misery my life to lead I 

To fall from my bliss, alas the while ! 5 

It was my sore and heavye lott : 

I most leave mv native land, 
And 1 must live a man forgot. 



One gentle Armstrong I doe ken, 

A Scot he is much bound to mee : 10 

He dwelleth on the border side, 

To him I'll goe right privilie. 

Thus did the noble Percy 'plains, 

\\ ith a heavy heart and wel away, 
Wnen he with all his gallant men 
On Bramham moor had lost the day. 

But when he to the Armstrongs came, 
I h»-y dealt with him all treacherouslye ; 

For they did strip that noble earle : 

And ever an ill death may they dye. 20 

Hector to Earl .Murray sent, 
To shew him where his guest did hide; 
W bo sent him to the Lough-leven, 
With William Douglas to abide. 

And whan he to the Douglas came, 25 

II.- batched bun right oourteouslie . 

Welcome, welcome, noble earle, 

Hers thou shall ssfelye hide with mee. 
When he had in Louah-leren been 

. ■ month and many a dav : 30 

• Dl * the h.rd wardent sent, 

I bat hsnnisht earle for to betray. 

r.-d him gnat ' ire of gold, 
tad wrote i fetter bit to see • 

mi me my boon, 35 

i \ n-ld th.it hauidit man t0 in- <■. 

.• ths suppst 

w its iu gsntleman i 

■ ike. 

An.l thus t,, iyti u,ih him I,. 40 

OS \h< - i sad, mv lord, 
I 

1 o-mon i! bee held 

lords of ths North oountrys. 



i Morton, - leeled renal oi Beet- 

I i i Kun»d< ii. 



The butts are sett, the shooting's made, 
And there will be great royaltye : 

And I am sworne into my bille, 
Thither to bring my Lord Percye. 

I'll give thee my hand, thou gentle Douglas, 
A/id here by mv true faith, quoth hee, 

If thou wilt ryde to the worldes end 
I will ryde In thy companye. 

And then bespake a lndv faire, 
Mary a Douglas was her name : 

You shall byde here, good English lord, 
My brother is a traiterous man. 

He is a traitor stout and strong, 

As I tell you in privitie: 
For he hath tane liverance of the earle *, 

Into England nowe to 'liver thee. 

Now nay, now nay, thou goodly lady, 

The regent is a noble lord : 
Ne for the gold in all England 

The Douglas w old not break his word. 



45 



50 



55 



60 



65 



When the regent was a banisht man, 

With me he did faire welcome find , 
And whether weal or woe betide, 

I still shall find him true and kind. 

[truce, 
Betweene England and Scotland it wold breake 

And friends againe they wold never bee, 70 
If they shold 'liver a banisht erle 

Was driven out of his own countrie. 

Alas ! alas ! my lord, she sayes, 

Nowe mickle is their traitorle ; 
Then lett my brother ryde his wayes, 75 

And tell those English lords from thee, 



How that you cannot with him ryde, 
Because you are in an ile of the sea t, 

Then ere my brother come againe 
To Edenborow castle f He carry thee. 



80 



85 



To the Lord Hume I will thee bring, 
He is well knowne a true Scots lord, 

And he will lose both land and life, 
Ere he with thee will break his word. 

Much is mv woe, Lord Percy savd, 
When 1 thinke on my own countrie, 

When 1 thinke on the heavve happe 
My friends have suffered there for mee. 



Much is my woe, Lord Percy sayd, 

\:i 1 BON those wars mv minde distresse ; 90 
Where many a widow lost her mate, 
And many a child was fatherlesse. 

And now that T a banisht man 

shold bring such evil happe with mee, 

Cause mv faire and noble friends 



To he suspect of treachene 



95 



• or tin Bar] "i Morton, the Regent. 

I ' i '• I •''< ei Leven, which hath communication wi 

J At tli.it inn.' in ii,.- hands <>r the opposite faction. 



NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS. 


75 


This rives my heart with double woe ; 


I have now in Lough-leven been 




And lever had I dye this day, 


The most part of these years three, 


150 


Than thinke a Douglas can be false, 


Yett have I never had noe outrake, 




Or ever he will his guest betray. 100 


Ne no good games that I cold see. 




If you'll give me no trust, my lord, 


Therefore I'll to yond shooting wend, 




Nor unto mee no credence yield ; 


As to the Douglas I have hight : 




Yet step one moment here aside, 


Betide me weale, betide me woe, 


155 


lie showe you all your foes in field. 


He ne'er shall find my promise light. 




Lady, I never loved witchcraft, 105 


He writhe a gold ring from his finger, 




Never dealt in privy wyle ; 


And gave itt to that gay ladie : 




But evermore held the high-waye 


Sayes, It was all that I cold save, 




Of truth and honour, free from guile. 


In Harley woods where I cold bee*. 


160 


If you'll not come yourselfe, my lorde, 


And wilt thou goe, thou noble lord, 




Yet send your chamberlaine with mee ; 1 LO 


Then farewell truth and honestie ; 




Let me but speak three words with him, 


And farewell heart and farewell hand ; 




And he shall come again to thee. 


For never more I shall thee see. 




James Swynard with ^hat lady went, 


The wind was faire, the boatmen call'd, 


165 


She showed him through the weme of her ring 


And all the saylors were on borde ; 




How many English lords there were 115 


Then William Douglas took to his boat, 




Waiting for his master and him. 


And with him went that noble lord. 




And who walkes yonder, my good lady, 


Then he cast up a silver wand, 




So royallye on yonder greene? 


Says, Gentle lady, fare thee well ! 


170 


yonder is the Lord Hunsden*: 


The lady fett a sigh soe deep, 




Alas ! he'll doe you drie and teene. 120 


And in a dead swoone down shee fell. 




And who beth yonder, thou gay ladye, 


Now let us goe back, Douglas, he sayd, 




That walkes so proudly him beside? 


A si'ckness hath taken yond faire ladie ; 




That is Sir William Druryt, shee sayd, 


If ought befall yond lady but good, 


175 


A keene captaine hee is and tryde. 


Then blamed for ever I shall bee. 




How many miles is itt, madame, 125 


Come on, come on, my lord, he sayes ; 




Betwixt yond English lords and mee? 


Come on come on, and let her bee : 




Marry it is thrice fifty miles, 


There's ladyes enow in Lough-leven 




To saile to them upon the sea. 


For to cheere that gay ladle. 


180 


I never was on English ground, 

Ne never sawe it with mine eye, 130 
But as my book it sheweth mee ; 

And through my ring I may descrye. 


If you'll not turne yourself, my lord, 
Let me goe with my chamberlaine ; 

We will but comfort that faire lady, 
And wee will return to you againe. 




1 


My mother shee was a witch ladye, 


Ccme on, come on, my lord, he sayes ; 
Come on, come on, and let her bee : 


185 


And of her skille she learned mee ; 


My sister is. craftye, and wold beguile 
A thousand such as you and mee. 




She wold let me see out of Lough-leven 135 




What they did in London citie. 






When they had sayledf fifty myle, 




But who is yond, thou ladye faire, 


Now fifty mile upon the sea ; 


190 


That looketh with sic an austerne face ? 


Hee sent his man to ask the Douglas, 




Yonder is Sir John Foster}:, quoth shee, 


When they shold that shooting see. 




Alas ! he'll do ye sore disgrace. 140 








Faire words, quoth he, they make fooles faine, 


He pulled his hatt downe over his browe ; 


And that by thee and thy lord is seen : 




Tie wept ; in his heart he was full of woe : 


You may hap to thinke itt soone enough, 


195 


And he is gone to his aoble lord, 


Ere you that shooting reach, I ween. 




Those sorrowful tidings him to show. 


Jamye his hatt pulled over his browe, 




Now nay, now nay, good James Swynard, 145 


He thought his lord then was betray'd j 




I may not believe that witch ladle ; 


And he is to Erie Percy againe, 




The Douglasses were ever true, 


To tell him what the Douglas sayd. 


200 


And they can ne'er prove false to mee. 






* i. e. Where I was. An ancient idiom. 

t There is no navigable stream between Longh-lever 


) and 


* The lord warden of the East marches. 

t Governor of Berwick. 

t Warden of the Middle-march. 


the sea : but a baHad-maker is not obliged to understand ge- 
ography. 






MY MIM) TO ME A KINGDOM IS. 



Hul<l app tin head, num. quoth his lord ; 

\ r then-tore left thy ooaraga Eerie, 
11.- did it hut t.. prore thj heart, 

I it' be COM make it quail. 



90b 



\\ hen they bad other fifty aeyld, 

Other fifty mile upon the M 

Percy oalled t,. Douglas himselfe, 
Bayd, What wilt thou aowe due with mee ? 

l.ooke that vour brydle be wight, my lord, 

And your hone goe swift as shipp att sea : 210 

J. .idle that vour spurre.s he brig-lit and sharpe, 
That vou may pricke her while she'll away. 

What needeth this, Douglas? be sayth ; 
\\ hat iieedest thou to rlyte with mee ? 



For I was counted a horseman good 21S 

Before that ever I mett witb thee. 

A false Hector hath my horse, 

Who dealt witb mee so treacherouslie : 

A false Armstrong bath my spurres, 

And all the geere belongs to mee. 220 

When they bad sayled other fifty mile, 

Other fifty mile upon the sea ; 
Thev landed low by Berwicke side, 

A deputed ' laird ' landed Lord Percye. 

Then be at Yorke was doomde to dye, 225 

It was, alas ! a sorrowful sight : 
Thus they betrayed that noble earle, 

Who ever was a gallant wight. 



MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS. 



Thm excellent philosophical song appears to have 
been famous in the sixteenth century. It is quoted 
l>\ Ben Jonson in bis play of "Every Man out of 
bui Humour," first acted in 1599, act. i. sc. 1. where 
an impatient person says, 

" I am no such pil'd cvnique to believe 
'1 hat beggery is the onely happinesse, 
Or, witli a number of these patient fooles, 
To sing, ' My minde to me a kingdorae is,' 
When the lanke hungrie belly barkes for foode." 

It is here chiefly printed from a thin quarto Mu sic 

entitled, " Psalmes, Sonets, and Songs of 

- ami pi.-tie, made into Musicke of five parts: 

,nc. By William Byrd, one of the Gent, of the 

• i honorable ChappelL — Printed by 

Tbomae East, 8cc w ito. no date ■ but Ames in his 

- mentioned another edit, of the same 

, which I take to have been later 

than thili 

-• improrementa, and an additional stanza (sc. 

.i irere had Braaa two other ancient copies; 

: tin-in in I. lack letter in the Pep\s Collection, 

thus inscribed, " A iwoet and pleasant eonet, 

inii'l.d, ' My Minde to me a Kingdom is.' To the 

AC." 

DC ot the Itaniaa in this poem were printed by 
mi tin- re^t : they are here given m 
•in.-d th.- BOSl natural order. 

■ 

therein I finde 
A • ■ ceeo* all earthly bliaee, 

: nde : 

i i. much 1 want, that most iroold bare, 5 
.il ii j \ mmd forbi 

I 
i • • • aore than 1 

1 |>rMM to beare oo I 

n p hat I lark iii\ mind |Qpp Id 

mph like ■ , 

Blind <i"th i 



I see bow plentie surfets oft, 

And hastie clymbers soonest fall : 
I see that such as sit aloft 1 o 

Mishap doth threaten most of all : 
These get with toile, and keep with feare : 
Such cares my mind could never beare. 

No princely pompe, nor weltbie store, 

No force to winne the victorie, 20 

No wydie wit to salve a sore, 

No shape to winne a lovers eye ; 

To none of these I yeeld as thrall, 

For why my mind despisetb all. 

Some have too much, yet still they crave, 25 

I little have, yet seek no more : 
They are but poore, tho much they have ; 

And I am rich with little store : 
They poor, I rich ; they beg, I give ; 
They lacke, I lend ; they pine, 1 live. 30 

I laugh not at anotbers losse, 

I grudge not at anotbers gaine ; 
No worldly wave my mind can tosse, 

I brooke that is anotbers bane : 
I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend ; 35 

1 lothe not life, nor dread mine end. 

1 joy not in no earthly blisse ; 

I weigh not CreauB' weltfa a straw j 
For care, 1 care not what it is; 

I feare not fortunes fatall law ■ 10 

My mind is such as may not move 
For beautie bright or force of love. 

1 a iafa but what I have at will ; 

I wander not to sccke for more; 
1 like the plaine, I clime no hill ; 

In greatest stormes 1 sitte on shore, 
\nd laugh at them that toile in vaine 
I <t what must be lost againe 

\<,. v.'l. i.. I. MS. u.„ls land, and lias not the fallowing 

Mm/ i. ■ 



THE PATIENT COUNTESS. 



77 



I kisse not wliere I wish to kill ; 

I feigne not love where most I hate 
I breake no sleep to winne my will ; 

I wayte not at the mighties gate ; 
I scorne no poore, I feare no rich ; 
I feele no want, nor have too much. 

The court, ne cart, I like, ne loath ; 

Extreames are counted worst of all : 
The golden meane betwixt them both 

Doth surest s't, and fears no fall : 



This is my choyce, for why I finde, 
50 I No wealth is like a quiet minde. 

My welth is health, and perfect ease ; 

My conscience clere my chiefe defence 
I never seeke by brybes to please, 

Nor by desert to give offence : 
.55 Thus do I live, thus will I die ; 

Would all did so as well as I ! 



60 



65 



VI. 



THE PATIENT COUNTESS. 



The subject of this tale is taken from that enter- 
taining colloquy of Erasmus, entitled " Uxor Me/n- 
i^iyctfioc, sive Conjugium : " which been agreeably 
modernized by the late Mr. Spence, in his little 
miscellaneous publication, entitled " Moralities, &c, 
by Sir Harry Beaumont," 1753, 8vo. pag. 42. 

The following stanzas are extracted from an 
ancient poem entitled " Albion's England," written 
by W. Warner, a celebrated poet in the reign of 
Queen Elizabeth, though his name and works are 
now equally forgotten. The reader will find some 
account of him in Series the Second, book ii. song 24. 

The following stanzas are printed from the author's 
improved edition of his work, printed in 1602, 4to ; 
the third impression of which appeared so early as 
1592, in bl. let. 4to.— The edition in 1602 is in 
thirteen books ; and so it is reprinted in 1612, 4to ; 
yet in 1606 was published " A Continuance of 
Albion's England, by the first author, W. W. Lond. 
4to. : " this contains books xiv. xv. xvi. In Ames's 
Typography is preserved the memory of another 
publication of this writer's, entitled, " Warner's 
Poetry," printed in 1580, 12mo, and reprinted in 
1602. There is also extant, under the name of 
Warner, " Syrinx, or seven fold Hist, pleasant and 
profitable, comical, and tragical." 4to. 

It is proper to premise that the following lines 
were not written by the author in Stanzas, but in 
long Alexandrines of fourteen syllables : which the 
narrowness of our page made it here necessary to 
subdivide. 

Impatience chaungeth smoke to flame, 

But jelousie is hell ; 
Some wives by patience have reduc'd 

111 husbands to live well : 
As did the ladie of an earle, 5 

Of whom I now shall tell- 

An earle ' there was' had wedded, lov'd ; 

Was lov'd, and lived long 
Full true to his fayre countesse ; yet 

At last he did her wrong. 10 

Once hunted he untill the chace, 

Long fasting, and the heat 
Did house him in a peakish graunge 

Within a forest great. 



Where knowne and welcom'd (as the place 

And persons might afforde) 
Browne bread, whig, bacon, curds and milke 

Were set him on the borde. 

A cushion made of lists, a stoole 

Halfe backed with a hoope 
Were brought him, and he sitteth down 

Besides a sorry coupe. 

The poore old couple wisht their bread 
Were wheat, their whig were perry, 

Their bacon beefe, their milke and curds 
Were creame, to make him merry. 

Mean while (in russet neatly clad, 

With linen white as swanne, 
Herselfe more white, save rosie where 

The ruddy colour ranne : 

Whome naked nature, not the aydes 

Of arte made to excell) 
The good man's daughter sturres to see 

That all were feat and well ; 
The earle did marke her, and admire 

Such beautie there to dwell. 

Yet fals he to their homely fare, 

And held him at a feast : 
But as his hunger slaked, so 

An amorous heat increast. 

When this repast was past, and thanks, 

And welcome too ; he sayd 
Unto his host and hostesse, in 

The hearing of the mayd : 

Yee know, quoth he, that I am lord ' 

Of this, and many townes ! 
I also know that you be poore, 

And I can spare you pownes. 

Soe will I, so yee will consent, 

That yonder lasse and I 
May bargaine for her love ; at least, 

Doe give me leave to trye. 
Who needs to know it ? nay who dares 

Into my doings pry 1 



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35 



40 



45 



50 



n 



1 in; \>\ i li. .\ l < el NTESS. 



st at the length S i 

For lucre "< re misled ; 

And then ti • did wowe 

'1 in- damsel] for his bed. 

He took her in his amies, U vet 

\ iab to l«- kist, 60 

• >i> tli;it know themselves helov'd, 

And \ ieldingly n 

In lew, bii oilers were so large 

she lastly did consent ; 
v. h nrhom he lodged all that night, >'» 

And Batty home he went. 

lie tooke occasion oftentimes 

In such a >ort to hunt. 
^ bom when his lady often mist, 

Contrary to his wont, 

Ami lastly was informed of 

1 lis amorous haunt elsewhere , 
It u'i'eev'd her not a little, though 

leem'd it well to beare. » 

And thus she reasons with herselfe, <: 

Some fault perhaps in me ; 

• wlr.it is done, that SOC he doth ■ 

Alas I what may it be I 

How may I arinne him to myself? 

I !-• is a in. in, and men 80 

Hare imperfections; it behooves 

.Me pardon nature then. 

. . ke him were to make him cheese* 
Although bee now were chaste- 
A man controuled of his wife, 85 

To her makes lesser haste. 

[fduty then, or daliance may 

Prevai le to alter him ; 
1 w ill he dutifiill, and make 

-lie lor daliance triiu. 90 

ami bo lovingly 

I >nl entertaine her lord, 

lifer, or more faultles none 

1 dd he tor bed or bord. 

ill he loves his leiman, and 95 

I >i I still pursue that game, 

I 'in-/ nothing less, than that 
I lii lady knew the same : 

efore to make him know .she knew, 

did frame i too 

be bad been a rong'd, and sought 

I • lies in v.nne, 

ideth to the limp i 
But « it l» a deader treine. 

reets them Well • l >\ 

: then did looke about bar : 
nil tie boushold know in ■ li, r, 
ish themselree w ithout her ; 

■ looked ineriis . 
• let the] did misdoubt h. r. i id 

flu d Mrbi i' n hiwk 
from in- prop > pursali i lo • hi 1 i. ill i 

' • l.i.l. . Ill- III I!. I \. i -. ii . .1 in l>..t;, 



When she had seen the beauteous wench 

(Then blushing fairnes fairer) 
Such beauty made the countesse hold 

Them both excus'd the rather. 

Who would not bite at such a bait ? 115 

Thought she : and who (though loth) 

So poore a wench, but gold might tempi 1 
Sweet errors lead them both. 

Scarse one in twenty that had bragg'd 

Of profter'd gold denied, 120 

Or of such yeelding beautie baulkt, 
But, tenne to one, had lied. 

Thus thought she : and she thus declares 

Her cause of coming thether ; 
My lord, oft hunting in these partes, 125 

Through travel, night or wether, 

Hath often lodged in your house ; 

I thanke you for the same ; 
For why? it doth him jolly ease 

To lie so neare his game. 1 30 

But, for you have not furniture 

Beseeming such a guest, 
I bring his owne, and come myselfe 

To see his lodging drest. 

With that two sumpters were discharged, tSS 

In which were hangings brave, 
Silke coverings, curtens, carpets, plate, 
And al such turn should have. 

When all was handsomly dispos'd, 

She prayes them to have care 140 

That nothing hap in their default, 

That might his health impair : 

And, damsell, quoth shee, for it seems 

This boushold is but three, 
And for thy parents age, that this 145 

Shall chiefely rest on thee ; 

Do me that good, else would to God 

1 le hither come no more. 
So tooke she horse, and ere she went 

Bestowed gould good store. 1 50 

Full little thought thecountie that 

Mis countesse had done so ; 
Who now return'd from far affaires 

Did to his sweet-heart go. 

\n SOOnez sat he I'oote within 3-*»5 

The late deformed cote, 

But that the formal] change of things 
l lis wondering eiea did note. 

But when he knew those goods to be 

His propor goods; though late, 160 

Scarce taking leave, he home returnes 
The matter to dehate. 

I he countesse was a-hed, and he 

\\ nli her Ins lodging tooke ; 
Sir, welcome home (quoth shoe); this night "55 

For you I did not looke. 



DOWSABELL. 



79 



Then did he question her of such 

His stuffe bestowed soe. 
Forsooth, quoth she, because I did 

Your love and lodging knowe : 

Your love to be a proper wench, 
Your lodging nothing lesse ; 

I held it for your health, the house 
More decently to dresse. 

Well wot I, notwithstanding her, 
Your lordship loveth me : 

And greater hope to hold you such 
By quiet, then brawles, ' you ' see. 



no 



175 



Then for my duty, your delight, 

And to retaine your favour 180 

All done I did, and patiently 

Expect your wonted 'haviour. 

Her patience, witte and answer wrought 

His gentle teares to fall : 
When (kissing her a score of times) 185 

Amend, sweet wife, I shall : 
He said, and did it : 'so each wife 

Her husband may' recall. 



VII. 
DOWSABELL. 



The following stanzas were written by Michael 
Drayton, a poet of some eminence in the reigns of 
Queen Elizabeth, James I, and Charles I*. They 
are inserted in one of his pastorals, the first edition 
of which bears this whimsical title. " Idea. The 
Shepheards Garland, fashioned in nine Eglogs." 
Rowland's Sacrifice to the Nine Muses. London, 
1593." 4to. They are inscribed with the author's 
name at length " To the noble and valerous gentle- 
man Master Robert Dudley, &c." It is very re- 
markable that when Drayton reprinted them in the 
first folio edit, of his works, 1619, he had given 
those ecologues so thorough a revisal, that there is 
hardly a line to be found the same as in the old 
edition. This poem had received the fewest cor- 
rections, and therefore is chiefly given from the 
ancient copy, where it is thus introduced by one of 
his shepherds : 

Listen to mee, my lovely shepheards joye, 

And thou shalt heare, with mirth and mickle glee, 

A pretie tale, which when I was a boy, 

My toothles grandame oft hath tolde to me. 

The author has professedly imitated the style and 
metre of some of the old metrical romances, par- 
ticularly that of Sir Isenbrasf (alluded to in v. 3). 
as the reader may judge from the following spe- 
cimen : 

Lordynges, lysten, and you shal here, &c. 

* * *- * 

Ye shall well heare of a knight, 
That was in warre full wyght 

And doughtye of his dede : 
His name was Syr Isenbras, 10 

Man nobler then he was 

Lyved none with breade. 
He was lyvely, large, and longe, 
With shoulders broade, and armes stronge, 

That myghtie was to se : 15 

He was a hardye man, and hye, 
All men hym loved that hym se, 

For a gentyll knight was he : 
Harpers loved him in hall, 
With other minstrells all, 20 

For he gave them golde and fee. &c, 

* He was born in 1563, and died in 1631, Biog. Brit. 
t As also Chaucer's Rhyme of Sir Topas, v. 6. 



This ancient legend was printed in black-letter, 
4to, by William Copland ; no date. In the Cotton 
Library (Calig. A. 2.) is a MS. copy of the same 
romance, containing the greatest variations. They 
are probably two different translations of some French 
original. 

Farre in the countrey of Arden, 
There won'd a knight, bight Cassemen, 

As bolde as Isenbras : 
Fell was he, and eger bent, 
In battell and in tournament, 5 

As was the good Sir Topas. 



He had, as antique stories tell, 
A daughter cleaped Dowsabel, 

A mayden fayre and free : 
And for she was her fathers heire, 
Full well she was y-cond the leyre 

Of mickle courtesie. 



The silke well couth she twist and twine, 
And make the fine march-pine, 

And with the needle werke : 
And she couth helpe the priest to say 
His mattins on a holy-day, 

And sing a psalme in kirke. 

She ware a frock of frolicke greene, 
Might well beseeme a mayden queene, 

Which seendy was to see ; 
A hood to that so neat and fine, 
In colour like the colombine, 

Y-wrought full featously. 

Her features all as fresh above, 

As is the grasse that growes by Dove ; 

And lyth as lasse of Kent. 
Her skin as soft as Lemster wool], 
As white as snow on Peakish Hull, 

Or swanne that swims in Trent. 

This mayden in a morne betime 

Went fortn, when May was in her prime, 

To get sweete cetywall, 
The honey-suckle, the harlocke, 
The lilly and the lady smocke, 

To deck her summer hall. 



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BO 



THE FAREWELL TO LOVE. 



Thus as she wandred lien 1 and there, 
Y-paokmg "t" the bloomed breere, 

Slic ch anced to espie 
A ■hephoerd sitting on a hancke 40 

Like chanteelere he crowed cranke, 

And pip'd full merrilie. 

lie lear'd his sheepe as he him list, 
\\ ben he would whistle in his 6st, 

To feede about him round ; 45 

Whilst he full many a carroll sung, 
I'ntill the fields and medowes rung, 

And all the woods did sound, 

Tn favour this same shepheards swayne 

\\ as like the bedlam Tamburlayne*, 50 

Which helde prowd kings in awe : 
But meeke he was as a lamb mought be ; 
An innocent of ill as hef 

Whom his lewd brother slaw. 

The shepheard ware a sheepe-gray cloke, 55 

Which was of the finest loke, 

That could be cut with sheere : 
His mittens were of bauzens skiune, 
lli< cockers were of cordiwin, 

His hood of meniveere. 60 

His aule and lingell in a thong, 
His tar-boxe on his broad belt hong, 

His breech of coyntrie blewe : 
Full crispe and curled were his lockes, 
Hifl browes as white as Albion rocks : 65 

So like a lover true. 

And pyping still he spent the day, 
Bo merry as the popingay ; 

Which liked Dowsabel: 
That would she ought, or would she nought, 70 
I 1ms lad would never from her thought; 

She in love-longing fell. 

At length she tucked up her frocko, 
\\ bite U a lilly was her sinocke, 

She drew toe ihepheerd nye; 75 

Bat then the ihepheerd pyp'd a good, 
That all his iheepe foreooke their loode, 

To been bjl nielodye. 



Thy sheepe, quoth she, cannot be learie, 
That have a jolly shepheards swayne, 

The which can pipe so well : 
Yea but, sayth he, their shepheard may, 
If pyping thus he pine away 

In love of Dowsabel. 

Of love, fond boy, take thou no keepe, 
Quoth she ; looke thou unto thy sheepe, 

Lest they should hap to stray, 
Quoth he, So I had done full well, 
Had I not seen fayre Dowsabell 

Come forth to gather maye. 

With that she gan to vaile her head, 
Her cheeks were like the roses red, 

But not a word she sayd : 
With that the shepheard gan to frowne, 
He threw his pretie pypes adowne, 

And on the ground him layd. 

Sayth she, I may not stay till night, 
And leave my summer-hall undight, 

And all for long of thee. 
My coate, sayth he, nor yet my foulde 
Shall neither sheepe nor shepheard hould, 

Except thou favour mee. 

Sayth she, Yet lever were I dead, 
Then I should lose my mayden-head, 

And all for love of men. 
Sayth he, Yet are you too unkind, 
If in your heart you cannot finde 

To love us now and then. 

And I to thee will be as kinde 
As Colin was to Rosalinde, 

Of curtesie the flower. 
Then will I be as true, quoth she, 
As ever may den yet might be 

Unto her paramour. 

With that she bent her snow-white knee, 
Downe by the shepheard kneeled shee, 

And him she sweetely kist : 
With that the shepheard whoop'd for joy, 
Quoth he, Ther's never shepheards boy 

That ever was so blist. 



VIII. 
THE FAREWELL TO LOVE. 



■ Reeimionl and Fletcher*! play, entitled The 

• I in. BO. 1. 

AOOW, f"ii<l i II y, )U wanton powers; 

nn. 
'' h.ni dull di .-., .- ot |,|, „nl and idle hours, 

Ben itching peJn, 

1 '"'•"' i <in- th, On it, n iii.- s. -villi.-,!, 
Hhrpbeard/ lMW, bvo, an .-1,1 ruiini pla% ucribedto Mai 
^ wc - ■ le. 4beL 



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B5 



90 



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100 



10o 



110 



115 



L20 



Fly to fools, that sigh away their time : 5 

My nobler love to heaven doth climb, 
And there behold beauty still young, 

That time can ne'er corrupt, nor death destroy, 
Immortal sweetness by fair angels sung, 

And honoured by eternity and joy : 10 

There lies my love, thither my hopes aspire, 
Fond love declines, this heavenly love grows higher 



CUPID'S PASTIME. 



81 



IX. 

ULYSSES AND THE SYREN 



— affords a pretty poetical contest between Plea- 
sure and Honour. It is found at the end of " Hy- 
men's Triumph : a pastoral tragicomedie," written 
by Daniel, and printed among his works, 4to, 
1623*. — Daniel, who was a contemporary of 
Drayton's, and is said to have been poet laureat to 
Queen Elizabeth, was born in 1562, and died in 
1619. Anne Countess of Dorset, Pembroke, and 
Montgomery (to whom Daniel had been Tutor), has 
inserted a small portrait of him in a full-length pic- 
ture of herself, preserved at Appleby Castle, in 
Cumberland. 

This little poem is the rather selected for a speci- 
men of Daniel's poetic powers, as it is omitted^ in 
the later edition of his works, 2 vols. l2mo. 1718*. 



Come, worthy Greeke, Ulysses come, 

Possesse these shores with me, 
The windes and seas are troublesome, 

And here we may be free. 
Here may we sit and view their toyle, 

That travaile in the deepe, 
Enjoy the day in mirth the while, 

And spend the night in sleepe. 

Ulysses. 

Faire nymph, if fame or honour were 

To be attain'd with ease, 
Then would I come and rest with thee, 

And leave such toiles as these : 
But here it dwels, and here must I 

With danger seek it forth ; 
To spend the time luxuriously 

Becomes not men of worth. 



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15 



Syren. 

Ulysses, be not deceiv'd 

With that unreall name : 
This honour is a thing conceiv'd, 

And rests on others' fame. 
Begotten only to molest 

Our peace, and to beguile 
(The best thing of our life) our rest, 

And give us up to toyle ! 

Ulysses. 

Delicious nymph, suppose there were 

Nor honor, nor report, 
Yet manlinesse would scorne to weare 

The time in idle sport : 



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For toyle doth give a better touch 

To make us feele our joy ; 
And ease findes tediousnes, as much 

As labour yeelds annoy. 
Syren. 
Then pleasure likewise seemes the shore, 

Whereto tendes all your toyle ; 
Which you forego to make it more, 

And perish oft the while. 
Who may disport them diversly, 

Find never tedious day ; 
And ease may have variety, 

As well as action may. 

Ulysses. 
But natures of the noblest frame 

These toyles and dangers please ; 
And they take comfort in the same, 

As much as you in ease : 
And with the thought of actions past 

Are recreated still : 
When pleasure leaves a touch at last 

To shew that it was ill. 
Syren. 
That doth opinion only cause, 

That's out of custom bred ; 
Which makes us many other laws 

Than ever nature did. 
No widdowes waile for our delights, 

Our sports are without blood ; 
The world we see by warlike wights 

Receives more hurt than good. 

Ulysses. 
But yet the state of things require 

These motions of unrest, 
And these great spirits of high desire 

Seem borne to turne them best : 
To purge the mischiefes, that increase 

And all good order mar : 
For oft we see a wicked peace 

To be well chang'd for war. 

Syren. 
Well, well, Ulysses, then I see 

I shall not have thee here ; 
And therefore I will come to thee, 

And take my fortune there. 
I must be wonne that cannot win, 

Yet lost were I not wonne : 
For beauty hath created bin 

T' undoo or be undone. 



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60 



65 



70 



X. 

CUPID'S PASTIME. 



This beautiful poem, which posseses a classical 
elegance hardly to be expected in the age of 
James I., is printed from the 4th edition of Davison's 



* In this edition it is collated with a copy printed at the 
end of his " Tragedie of Cleopatra. London, 1(507," 12mo. 



Poems, &c. 1621. It is also found in a later mis- 
cellany, entitled, " Le Prince d' Amour," 1660, 8vo. 
Francis Davison, editor of the poems above referred 
to, was son of that unfortunate secretary of state, 
who suffered so much from the affair of Mary Queen 
of Scots. These poems, he tells us in his preface, 

o 



Bl 



THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY ETFE 



were written by himself, by his l>rother [Walter], 
who was a soldier in the wars oftbe Low Countries, 
anil b] ir friends " anonvmoi." Among 

thetn are found BOOM pieces bjV BlT J. Davis, the 

Connteea of Pembroke, sir Phurp Sidney, Spenser, 

and other Ifita ot'tliose times. 

In the fourth vol. of Dryden's Miscellanies, this 
poem is attributed to Svdney Godolpbin, Es(]. ; but 
erronfnu-.lv, being probably written before he was 
born. One edit of Davison's book was published 
in .1608. Godolpbin was born in 1610, and died in 

I r chanc'd of late a shepherd swain, 
That went to seek his straying sheep, 

Within a thicket on a plain 
Espied a dainty nymph asleep. 

Her golden hair o'erspred her face ; 5 

lhr careless arms abroad were cast ; 

Her quiver had her pillows place ; 
Her breast lay bare to every blast. 

The shepherd stood and gaz'd his fill ; 

Nought durst he do ; nought durst he say; 10 
Whilst chance, or else perhaps his will, 

Did guide the god of love that way. 



The crafty boy that sees her sleep, 
Whom if she wak'd he durst not see ; 

Behind her closely seeks to creep ; 
Before her nap should ended bee. 

There come, he steals her shafts away, 
And puts his own into their place ; 

Nor dares he any longer stay, 

But, ere she wakes, hies thence apace. 

Scarce was he gone, but she awakes, 
And spies the shepherd standing by : 

Her bended bow in haste she takes, 
And at the simple swain lets flye. 



15 



20 



Forth flew the shaft, and pierc'd his heart, 25 
That to the ground he fell with pain : 

Yet up again forthwith he start, 
And to the nymph he ran amain. 

Amazed to see so strange a sight, 

She shot, and shot, but all in vain ; 30 

The more his wounds, the more his might, 

Love yielded strength amidst his pain. 

Her arjgry eyes were great with tears, 

She blames her hand, she blames her skill ; 

The bluntness of her shafts she fears, 35 

And try them on herself she will. 

Take heed, sweet nymph, trye not thy shaft, 
Each little touch will pierce thy heart : 

Alas ! thou know'st not Cupids craft ; 

Revenge is joy; the end is smart. 40 

Yet try she will, and pierce some bare ; 

Her hands were glov'd but next to hand 
Was that fair breast, that breast so rare, 

That made the shepherd senseless stand. 

That breast she pierc'd ; and through that breast 45 

Love found an entry to her heart ; 
At feeling of this new-come guest, 

Lord ! how this gentle nymph did start ? 



She runs not now ; she shoots no more ; 

Away she throws both shaft and bow : 
She seeks for what she shunn'd before, 

She thinks the shepherds haste too slow. 

Though mountains meet not, lovers may : 

What other lovers do, did they : 
The god of love sate on a tree, 
And laught that pleasant sight to see. 



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55 



XI. 



THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE. 



Tins little moral poem was writ by Sir Henry 

a, * bo died Provost of Eaton in L639, A L 

[| li printed from a little collection of 

. entitled, " Reliqnia Wottohians/' 

i' •! capered with one or two other 

• born or ta 

■ ;!■ nut anotbera e ill ; 

\\ bOM armour i | thought, 

i Mm). ir troth hi ■ ill : 



r are , 
W bOM aoul is Mill praper'd lor (hath; 

d urn., the world with oara 

' M princes ear, or vulgai breath • 



Who hath his life from rumours freed ; 

W hose conscience is his strong retreat : 
Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 

Nor mine make oppressors great : 

Who envies none, whom chance doth raise, 
Or vice : Who never understood 

How deepest wounds are given with praise ; 
Nor rules of state, but rules of good ; 

\\ DO God doth late and earlv pray 

More of his grace than gifts to lend ; 

And entertains the harmless day 
\\ ith a well-chosen book or friend. 

This man is freed from servile hands 
Of hope to rise, or feare to fall; 

Lord of himselfe, though not of lands ; 
And having nothing, yet hath all. 



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20 



— was a famous robber, who lived about the 
middle of the last century, if we may credit the 
histories and story-books of highwaymen, which 
relate many improbable feats of him, as his robbing- 
Cardinal Richlieu, Oliver Cromwell, &c. But these 
stories have probably no other authority, than the 
records of Grub-street: At least the " Gilderoy," 
who is the hero of Scottish Songsters, seems to 
have lived in an earlier age ; for, in Thomson's 
Orpheus Caledonius, vol. ii. 1733, 8vo, is a copy of 
this ballad, which, though corrupt and interpolated, 
contains some lines that appear to be of genuine 
antiquity : in these he is represented as con- 
temporary with Mary Queen of Scots : ex. gr. 

" The Queen of Scots possessed nought, 
ThatTny love let me want : 
Forcow and ew to me he brought, 
And ein whan they were scant." 

These lines perhaps might safely have been 
inserted among the following stanzas, which are 
given from a written copy, that appears to have 
received some modern corrections. Indeed the 
common popular ballad contained some indecent 
luxuriances that required the pruning-hook. 

Gilderoy was a bonnie boy, 

Had roses .tull his shoone, 
His stockings were of silken soy, 

Wi' garters hanging doune : 
It was, I weene, a comelie sight, 5 

To see sae trim a boy ; 
He was my jo and hearts delight, 

My handsome Gilderoy. 



Oh ! sike twa charming een he had, 

A breath as sweet as rose, 
He never ware a Highland plaid, 

But costly silken clothes ; 
He gain'd the luve of ladies gay, 

Nane eir tull him was coy : 
Ah ! wae is mee ! I mourn the day 

For my dear Gilderoy. 

My Gilderoy and I were born, 

Baith in one toun together, 
We scant were seven years beforn, 

We gan to luve each other ; 
Our dadies and our mammies thay, 

Were fill'd wi' mickle joy, 
To think upon the bridal day, 

Twixt me and Gilderoy. 

For Gilderoy that luve of mine, 

Gude faith, I freely bought 
A wedding sark of holland fine, 

WT silken flowers wrought : 
And he gied me a wedding ring, 

Which I receiv'd wi' joy, 
Nae lad nor lassie eir could sing, 

Like me and Gilderov. 



10 



15 



20 



c 25 



4ft T| 



50 



Wi' mickle joy we spent our prime, 

Till we were baith sixteen, 
And aft we past the langsome time, 35 

Among the leaves sae green ; 
Aft on the banks we'd sit us thair, 

And sweetly kiss and toy, 
Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hair 

My handsome Gilderoy. 40 

Oh ! that he still had been content, 

Wi' me to lead his life ; 
But, ah ! his manfu' heart was bent, 

To stir in feates of strife : 
And he in many a venturous deed, 

His courage bauld wad try ; 
And now this gars mine heart to bleed, 

For my dear Gilderoy. 

And when of me his leave he tuik, 

The tears they wat mine ee, 
I gave tull him a parting luik, 

" My benison gang wi' thee ; 
God speed thee weil, miue ain dear heart 

For gane is all my joy ; 
My heart is rent sith we maun part, 5.5 

My handsome Gilderoy." 

My Gilderoy baith far and near, 

Was fear'd in every toun, 
And bauldly bare away the gear, 

Of many a lawland loun : 60 

Nane eir durst meet him man to man, 

He was sae brave a boy ; 
At length wi' numbers he was tane, 

My winsome Gilderoy. 

Wae worth the loun that made the laws, 65 

To hang a man for gear, 
To 'reave of live for ox or ass, 

For sheep, or horse, or mare : 
Had not their laws been made sae strick, 

I neir had lost my joy, 70 

Wi' sorrow neir had wat my cheek, 

For my dear Gilderoy. 

Giff Gilderoy had done amisse, 

He mought hae banisht been ; 
Ah ! what sair cruelty is this, 75 

To hang sike handsome men : 
To hang the flower o' Scottish land, 

Sae sweet and fair a boy ; 
Nae lady had sae white a hand, 

As thee my Gilderoy. 80 

Of Gilderoy sae fraid they were, 

They bound him mickle strong, 
Tull Edenburrow they led him thair, 

And on a gallows hung : 
They hung him high aboon the rest, 85 

He was sae trim a boy ; 
Thair dyed the youth whom I lued best 

My handsome Gilderoy. 

g 2 



8-1 



THE WITCH OV WOKEY. 



Tims having yielded op his breath, 
1 bare his oorpae away, 

bat trickled for bia death 

i lay ; 



90 



And siker in a grave sae dee]), 
] laid the dear-lued boy, 

And now for evir maun I weep, 
My winsome Gilderoy. 



95 



XTTL 



V\ IX IFREDA 



This beautiful address to conjugal love, a subject 
loo much neglected by the libertine muses, was, I 
believe, brat printed in a volume of " Miscellaneous 
Poems, by several hands, published by D. [Uavid] 
Lawia, 17-J6, 8vo." 

It is there said, how truly I know not, to be a 
translation " from the ancient British language." 

Away ; let nought to love displeasing 

My Winifreda, move your care ; 
Let nought delay the heavenly blessing, 
[ueamiab pride, nor gloomy fear. 

What tho' no grants of roval donors 5 

With pqmpona titles grace our blood ; 

Well shine in more substantial honors, 
And to be noble we'll be good. 

Our name, while virtue thus we tender, 

Will sweetly sound where-e'er 'tis spoke : 10 

And all the great ones, they shall wonder 
J low they respect such little folk. 



What though from fortune's lavish bounty 
No mighty treasures we possess ; 

We'll find within our pittance plenty, 
And be content without excess. 

Still shall each, returning season 

Sufficient for our wishes give ; 
For we will live a life of reason, 

And that's the only life to live. 

Through youth and age in love excelling, 
We'll hand in hand together tread ; 

Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling, 
And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed. 

How should I love the pretty creatures, 
While round my knees they fondly clung ; 

To see them look their mothers features, 
To hear them lisp their mothers tongue. 

And when with envy time transported, 
Shall think to rob us of our joys, 

You'll in your girls again be courted, 
And I'll go a wooing in my boys. 



15 



20 



25 



30 



XIV. 



THE WITCH OF WOKEY 



— was published in ;i small collection of poems, 

I. "Euthemia, or the Tower of Harmony; 8cc." 
mitten, in 1748, ty the ingenione Dr. Har- 
bo never allowed them to be pub- 
lished, and withheld his name till it could no longer 

1. The following copy was furnished by 

the lata Mr, Bhenatone, with tome variationa and 

dona of bia own, n biofa be bad taken the liberty 

»•» propoee, and for which the Author's indulgence 

Bated. In thi • dition it wai intended tO re- 
print the Author' inal copy; but, aa that 

in IVan h's ( ullectJon, 
thought the reader of 

i a the van . 1 1 red ; 

retained here, which il ia 

orthy autliur w ill excuae a ith ins wonted 

it V. 

erael hire, 
man; wild fanciful 
l 

lit, the 
■ 
thickni loom, oasmol be diacovered bj the 

'' '"' ' under 



ground, is crost bv a stream of very cold water, and 
is all horrid with broken pieces of rock : manv of 
these are evident petrifactions : which, on account of 
their singular forms, have given rise to the fables al- 
luded to in this poem. 

In aunciente days tradition showes 

A base and wicked elfe arose, 

The Witch of Wokey bight : 
Oft have 1 heard the fearful] tale 

From Sue, and Roger of the vale, 5 

On some long winter's night. 

Deep in the dreary dismall cell, 

\\ Inch seeiu'd and was \ cleped hell, 

This blear-eyed hag did hide : 

Nine wicked elves, as legends sayne, 10 

She chose to form her guardian travne, 
And kenm 1 near h< -r side. 



Here Bcreeohing owls oft made their nest, 
\\ bile wolves its craggy sides possest, 

\ i ,ht-ho\\ ling thro' the rock : 

\.. wnoleaome herb could here be found ; 

She I. lasted every plant around, 

And bliater'd every flock. 



15 



BRYAN AND PEREENE. 



85 



Her haggard face was foull to see ; 

Her mouth unmeet a mouth to bee ; 20 

Her eyne of deadly leer, 
She nought devis'd, but neighbour's ill; 
She wreak'd on all her wayward will, 

And marr'd all goodly chear. 

All in her prime, have poets sung, 25 

No gaudy youth, gallant and young, 

E'er blest her longing armes ; 
And hence arose her spight to vex, 
And blast the youth of either sex, 

By dint of hellish charms. 30 

From Glaston came a lerned wight, 
Full bent to marr her fell despight, 

And well he did, I ween : 
Sich mischief never had been known, 
And, since his mickle lerninge shown, 35 

Sich mischief ne'er has been. 

He chauntede out his godlie booke, 
He crost the water, blest the brooke, 

Then — pater noster done, — 
The ghastly hag he sprinkled o'.er : 40 

When lo ! where stood a hag before, 

Now stood a ghastly stone. 

Full well 'tis known adown the dale . 
Tho' passing strange indeed the tale, 



And doubtfull may appear, 
I'm bold to say, there's never a one, 
That has not seen the witch in stone, 

With all her household gear. 

But tho' this lernede clerke did well ; 
With grieved heart, alas ! I tell, 

She left this curse behind : 
That Wokey-nymphs forsaken quite, 
Tho' sense and beauty both unite, 

Should find no leman kind. 

For lo ! even, as the fiend did say, 
The sex have found it to this day, 

That men are wondrous scant : 
Here's beauty, wit, and sense combin'd, 
With all that's good and virtuous join'd, 

Yet hardly one gallant. 

Shall then sich maids unpitied moane ? 
They might, as well, like her, be stone, 

As thus forsaken dwell. 
Since Glaston now can boast no clerks ; 
Come down from Oxenford, ye sparks, 

And, oh ! revoke the spell. 

Yet stay — nor thus despond, ye fair : 
Virtue's the gods' peculiar care; 

I hear the gracious voice : 
Your sex shall soon be blest agen, 
We only wait to find sich men, 

As best deserve your choice. 



45 



50 



60 



65 



70 



XV. 



BRYAN AND PEREENE, 



\ WEST-INDIAN BALLAD, 



— is founded on a reai iact, mat nappenea m tne 
island of St. Christophers about the beginning of the 
present reign. The editor owes the following stanzas 
to the friendship of Dr. James Grainger*, who was 
an eminent physician in that island when this tragi- 
cal incident happened, and died there much honoured 
and lamented in 1767. To this ingenious gentleman 
the public are indebted for the fine Ode on Solitude, 
printed in the 4th vol. of Dodsley's Miscellany, 
p. 229, in which are assembled some of the sub- 
limest images in nature. The reader will pardon the 
insertion of the first stanza here, for the sake of 
rectifying the two last lines, which were thus given 
by the author : 

O Solitude, romantic maid, 
Whether by nodding towers you tread, 
Or haunt the desart's trackless gloom, 
Or hover o'er the yawning tomb, 
Or climb the Andes' clifted side, 
Or by the Nile's coy source abide, 
Or starting from your half-year's sleep 
From Hecla view the thawing deep, 
Or at the purple dawn of day 
Tadmor's marble wastes survey, &c. 
alluding to the account of Palmyra published by 

* Author of a poem on the "Culture of the Sugar-CaDe," 
&c. published by Messrs. Wood and Dawkins. 



^ne late ingenious travellers, and the manner »n 
which +hey were struck at the first sight of those 
magninceL.* ruins bv break of day*. 

The north-ears* Wxna aia Drisidy blow, 

The ship was safely moor'd ; 
Young Bryan thought the boat's-crew slow, 

And so leapt over-board. 

Pereene, the pride of Indian dames, 5 

His heart long held in thrall ; 
And whoso his impatience blames, 

I wot, ne'er lov'd at all. 

A long lonjf year, one month and day, 

He dwelt on English land, 10 

Nor once in thought or deed would stray, 
Tho' ladies sought his hand. 

For Bryan he was tall and strong, 

Right blythsome roll'd his een, 
Sweet was his voice whene'er he sung, 15 

He scant had twenty seen. 

But who the countless charms can draw, 

That grac'd his mistress true ; 
Such charms the old world seldom saw, 

Nor oft I ween the new. 20 

* So in page 235, it should be, Turn'd her magic ay. 






GEN I l.i: [\l\ KR, GENTLE RIVER. 



Her raven hair plays round 1 ■• 
I ike tendrila of 1 1 1 * * vine ; 

.ks r»'d den v rose buds deck, 
llt-r eyes like diamonds .shine. 

bu well-known ship ahe spied, 
She cast her weeds away. 
Ami to the palmy Bhore she hied, 

All in her beet array. 

reen silk so neatly clad 
She there impatient Btood j 

The crew with womh'r saw the lad 
. 11 the roaming flood. 

Her hands a handkerchief display *d, 

Which he at parting gave ; 
Well pleas'd the token be survey 'd, 

And manlier heat the wave. 

Her (air companions one and all, 

Rejoicing crowd the strand ; 






30 



35 



For now her lover swam in call, 
And almost touch'd the land. 

Then through the white surf did she haste, 

To clasp her lovely swain ; 
When, ah ! a shark hit through his waste : 

His heart's blood dy'd the main ! 

lie shriek'd ! his half sprang: from the wave, 

Streaming; with purple gore, 
And soon it found a living; grave, 

And ah ! was seen no more. 

Xow haste, now haste, ye maids, I pray, 

Fetch water from the spring; : 
She falls, she swoons, she dies away, 

And soon her knell they ring;. 

Now each Mav morning; round her tomb, 

Ye fair, fresh flowerets strew, 
So mav vour lovers scape his doom, 

Her hapless fate scape you. 



40 



■n 



XVI. 
GENTLE RIVER, GENTLE RIVER. 



TRANSLATED FROM TUE SPANISH. 



Althoug-h the English are remarkable for the num- 
bs* and variety of weir ancient ballads, and retain, 
perhape, a greater fondness for these old simple 
rhapsodies of their ancestors than most other nations, 
they are not the only people who have distinguished 
tbemeelves by compositions of this kind. The Span- 
iards have great multitudes of them, many of which 
are of the highest merit. They call them in their 
R< manees, and have collected them into 
volumes under the titles of HI liomancero, 111 Can- 
eiemero 9 , Sec JNIostof them relate to their conflicts 
with the .Moors, and display a spirit of gallantly 
peculiar to that romantic people. But, of all the 
Spanish ballads, none exceed in poetical merit those 
inserted in a little Spanish " History of the Civil 
\\ ar- of ( tranada," describing the dissensions which 
; m that last seat of .Moorish empire before it 
conquered in the reign of Ferdinand and Isa- 
bella, in 1 19L In this history (or perhaps romance) 

it nuiiiiicr of heroic aongi are inserted, and 

. ed to as authentic vouchers for the truth of 

In reality, the prose narrative seems to be 

drawn up for no Other end, hut to introduce and 
illusl ■ autil'ul pi. | 

I In' Spanish editor pretends — how truly I knew 
ilations from the Arabic or 
Indeed, from the plain nu- 
rd nature oi the verse, and the native simplicity 

,.:•<• and sriitinu'iit, which runs through 

would judge them to have been 

~« • i ■ 1 1 •• > aed iooo after the conquest of Granada above 

e prose narrative in which they are 

published about a centun after. It 

ahou . re a ntten before 

the (.Julians ha<l formed themselves so generally, 

• .nil the model of the Tuscan 

• ■r had imported from Ualj thai fbndni 

• mi nt, e bich bss for near two cen- 
. h infected the Spanish poetry, and 
i i 



As a specimen of the ancient Spanish manner, 
which very much resembles that of our old English 
bards and minstrels, the reader is desired candidly to 
accept the two following poems. They are given 
from a small collection of pieces of this kind, which 
the Editor some years ago translated for his amuse- 
ment, when he was studying the Spanish language. 
As the first is a pretty close translation, to gratify 
the curious it is accompanied with the original. The 
metre is the same in all these old Spanish ballads : 
it is of the most simple construction, and is still used 
by the common people in their extemporaneous songs, 
as we learn from Baretti's Travels. It runs in short 
stanzas of four lines, of which the second and fourth 
alone correspond in their terminations; and in these 
it is only required that the vowels should be alike; 
the consonants mav be altogether different, as 
pone casa meten arcos 

noble canas miter* gama 

Yet has this kind of verse a sort of simple har- 
monious Bow, which atones for the imperfect nature 
of the rhyme, and renders it not unpleasing to the 

ear. The same flow of numbers has been studied in 
the following versions. The first of them is given 
from two different originals, both of which are printed 
in the Hist, de lot CiviUs Guerras de Granada. Mud. 
1694. One of them hath the rhymes ending in \ v, 
the other in l \. It is the former of these that is here 

reprinted. They both oi' them begin with the same 

line : 

Rio verde, no verde*, 

which could not he translated faithfully: 

Verdant river, verdant river, 
would have given an affected Btiffness to the verse ; 

the great merit of which is easy simplicity; and 

therefore a more simple epithet was adopted, though 

I BSS poetical or expressive. 

• Literally, <.'»" / river, green river. /Ho J'erde is said 
tu be the name .a ., rlvel iu Spain; which ought to b»vt 
becuaUeudul i" bj the Iranslatoi bad he kuowti it. 



RIO VERDE, RIO VERDE. 



" Rio verde, rio verde, 

Quanto cuerpo en ti se bafia 

De Christianos y de Moros 
Muertos por la dura espada ! 

" Y tus ondas cristalinas 

De roxa sangre se esmaltan : 

Entre Moros y Christianos 
Muy gran batalla se trava. 

" Murieron Duques y Condes, 
Grandes seiiores de salva : 

Murio gente de valia 

De la nobleza de Espafia. 

"En ti murio don Alonso, 
Que de Aguilar se llamaba ; 

El valeroso Urdiales, 

Con don Alonso acababa. 

"Por un ladera arriba 

El buen Sayavedra marcha ; 

Naturel es de Sevilla, 

De la gente mas granada. 

" Tras el iba un Renegado, 
Desta manera le habla ; 

Date, date, Sayavedra, 
No huyas de la batalla. 

" Yo te conozco muy bien, 

Gran tiempo estuve en tu casa : 

Y en la Placa de Sevilla 
Bien te vide jugar cauas. 

" Conozco a tu padre y madre, 

Y a tu muger dona Clara j 
Siete afios fui tu cautivo, 

Malamente me tratabas. 

" Y aora lo seras mio, 
Si Mahoma me ayudara ; 

Y tambien te tratare, 
Como a mi me tratabas. 

" Sayavedra que lo oyera, 
Al Moro bolvio la cara ; 

Tirole el Moro una flecha, 
Pero nunca le acertaba. 

"Hiriole Sayavedra 

De una berida muy mala : 
Muerto cayo el Renegado 

Sin poder bablar palabra. 

" Sayavedra fue cercado 
De mucha Mora canalla, 

Y al cabo cayo alii muerto 
De una muy mala lancada. 

" Don Alonso en este tiempo 
Bravamente peleava, 

Y el cavallo le avian muerto, 

Y le tiene por muralla." 

" Mas cargaron tantos Moros 
Que mal le hieren y tratan : 

De la sangre, que perdia, 
Don Alonso se desmaya. 



10 



15 



20 



30 



40 



45 



50 



55 



Gentle river, gentle river, 

Lo, thy streams are stain'd with gore, 
Many a brave and noble captain 

Floats along thy willow 'd shore. 

All beside thy limpid waters, 5 

All beside thy sands so bright, 
Moorish chiefs and Christian warriors 

Join'd in fierce and mortal fight. 

Lords, and dukes, and noble princes 

On thy fatal banks were slain : 10 

Fatal banks that gave to slaughter 

All the pride and flower of Spain. 

There the hero, brave Alonzo 

Full of wounds and glory died : 
There the fearless Urdiales 15 

Fell a victim by his side. 

Lo ! where yonder Don Saavedra 
Thro' their squadrons slow retires* ; 

Proud Seville, his native city, 

Proud Seville his worth admires. 20 

Close behind a renegado 

Loudly shouts wfth taunting cry ; 
Yield thee, yield thee, Don Saavedra, 

Dost thou from the battle fly ? 

Well I know thee, haughty Christian, 25 

Long I liv'd beneath thy roof; 
Oft I've in the lists of glory 

Seen thee win the prize of proof. 

Well I know thy aged parents 

Well thy blooming bride I know ; 30 

Seven years I was thy captive, 

Seven years of pain and woe. 

May our prophet grant my wishes, 
Haughty chief, thou shalt be mine ; 

Thou shalt drink that cup of sorrow, 35 

Which I drank when I was thine. 

Like a lion turns the warrior, 

Back he sends an angry glare : 
Whizzing came the Moorish javelin, 

Vainly whizzing thro' the air. 40 

Back the hero full of fury 

Sent a deep and mortal wound : 
Instant sunk the Renegado, 

Mute and lifeless on the ground. 

With a thousand Moors surrounded, 45 

Brave Saavedra stands at bay : 
Wearied out but never daunted, 

Cold at length the warrior lay. 

Near him fighting great Alonzo 

Stout resists the Paynim bands ; 50 

From his slaughter'd steed dismounted 

Firm intrench'd behind him stands. 

Furious press the hostile squadron, 

Furious he repels their rage : 
Loss of blood at length enfeebles : 55 

Who can war with thousands wage ! 



ALCANZQR AND ZAYDA. 



Al fin, al 6n i i\ o limn-to 

da on pens -.ilia, 

— Miicrto queda don Alonso, 
Eterna buna ganara." 



..'i 



Where yon rock the plain o'ershadowj 
Close beneath its Coot retir'd, 

Fainting sunk the bleeding hero, 
And without a groan expir'd. 



* m m In the Bpaniah original of the foregoing ballad, follow a few more stanzas, but being of inferior 
int nt were not tranalan 

•■ K. aegado" properly Bignifiea an Apostate ; but it is sometimes used to express an Infidel in general ; as 

. LO do above in vcr. SI . BcC, 
The image of the " Lion " 6cc. in ver. 37, is taken from- the other Spanish copy, the rhymes of which 
aid in " ia," viz. 

" Sayavedra, que lo oyera, 
Como un leon rebolbia." 



XVIT. 
ALCANZOR AND ZAYDA, 

A MOORISH TALE, 
IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH. 



The foregoing version was rendered as literal as the 
nature of the two languages would admit. In the 
following a wider compasa hath been taken. The 
Spanish poem that was chiefly had in view, is pre- 
served in the same history of the civil wars of 
Granada, f. 22, and begins with these hues : 

" Por la calle de su dama 
Passeando se anda, &c." 

Softly blow the evening breezes, 

Softly fall the dews of night ; 
Yonder walks the Moor Alcanzor, 

Shunning every glare of light. 

In yon palace lives fair Zaida, 5 

Whom he loves with flame so pure : 

Loveliest she of Moorish ladies ; 
11«- B young and noble Moor. 

Waiting for the appointed minute, 
Oft he pacea to and fro ; M) 

Stopping now, now moving forwards, 

Sometimes quick, and sometimes alow. 

Hope and fear alternate teize him, 

ott be aigha with heart-fell can'. 

S-e, loud youth, to yonder window l.'> 

■ ly itepa the timorous fair. 

i • ' i ami the moon's fair lustre 

l o thi bted 8* am, 

\\ ben all sdv.-rv brij lit she : 

(uldii ■ Dumntsin, roi a, and plain. 

i ■ ' . aan the i on' ■ full 

i i • • 
\\ hen some horrid storm di 

< 1 1 r the pi m •• hi • radiance fliea< 

I'.ut :i thooaand I lovely 

l o her lonj inn l 

the beauteous maiden 
1 fa 



Tip-toe stands the anxious lover, 

Whispering forth a gentle sigh • 30 

Alia* keep thee, lovely lady ; 

Tell me, am I doom'd to die ? 

Is it true the dreadful story, 

Which thy damsel tells my page, 
That seduc'd by sordid riches 3o 

Thou wilt sell thy bloom to age" 

An old lord from Antiquera 

Thy stern father brings along ; 
But canst thou, inconstant Zaida, 

Thus consent my love to wrong? 40 

If 'tis true now plainly tell me, 

Nor thus trifle with my woes ; 
Hide not then from me the secret, 

Which the world so clearly knows. 

Deeply sigh'd the conscious maiden, 45 

While the pearly tears descend: 
Ah ! my lord, too true the story ; 

Here our tender loves must end. 

Our fond friendship is discover'd, 

Well are known our mutual vows : 50 

All my friends are full of fury ; 

Storms of passion shake the house. 

Threats, reproaches, fears surround me ; 

My stern father breaks my heart : 
Mia knows how dear it costs me, 65 

Generous youth, from thee to part. 

Ancient wounds of hostile fury 

Long have rent our house and thine ; 

U hv then did thy shining merit 

W in this tender heart of mine 1 60 

W ell thou know'st how dear I lov'd thee 
Spite of all their hateful pride, 

'1 ho' 1 fear'd my haughty father 
Ne'er would let me be thy bride. 



• AU.i i- tin. Mahometan name t>r (Jod. 



RICHARD OF ALMAIGNE. 



89 



Well thou know'st what cruel eludings 
Oft I've from my mother borne ; 

What I've suffer'd here to meet thee 
Still at eve and early morn. 

I no longer may resist them ; 

All, to force my hand combine ; 
And to-morrow to thy rival 

This weak frame I must resign. 

Yet think not thy faithful Zaida 
Can survive so great a wrong ; 

Well my breaking heart assures me 
That my woes will not be long. 

Farewell then, my dear Alcanzor ! 

Farewell too my life with thee ! 
Take this scarf a parting token ; 

When thou wear'st it think on me. 

Soon, lov'd youth, some worthier maiden 
Shall reward thy generous truth : 

Sometimes tell her how thy Zaida 
Died for thee in prime of youth. 



80 



— To him all amaz'd, confounded, 85 

Thus she did her woes impart : 
Deep he sigh'd, then cry'd, — O Zaida ! 

Do not, do not break my heart. 

Canst thou think I thus will lose thee ? 

Canst thou hold my love so small ? 90 

No ! a thousand times 1 'II perish ! ■ 

My curst rival too shall fall. 

Canst thou, wilt thou yield thus to them 1 

O break forth, and fly to me ! 
This fond heart shall bleed to save thee, 95 

These fond arms shall shelter thee. 

'Tis in vain, in vain, Alcanzor, 

Spies surround me, bars secure : 
Scarce I steal this last dear moment, 

While my damsel keeps the door. 100 

Hark, I hear my father storming ! 

Hark, I hear my mother chide ! 
I must go : farewell for ever ! 

Gracious Alia be thy guide ! 



THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK. 



SERIES THE SECOND. 
BOOK I. 



Though some make slight of Libels, yet you may see by them how the wind sits : As, take a straw and 
throw it up into the air, you may see by that which way the wind is, which you shall not do by casting up 
a stone. More solid things do not show the complexion of the times so well as Ballads and Libels.- 

SeldenV Table-talk. 



RICHARD OF ALMAIGNE. 



" A ballad made by one of the adherents to 
Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, soon after the 
battle of Lewes, which was fought May 14, 1264," 

— affords a curious specimen of ancient satire, and 
shows that the liberty, assumed by the good people 
of this realm, of abusing their kings and princes at 
pleasure, is a privilege of very long standing. 

To render this antique libel intelligible, the 
reader is to understand that just before the battle of 
Lewes, which proved so fatal to the interests of 
Henry III. the barons had offered his brother 
Richard King of the Romans 30,0001. to procure a 
peace upon such terms as would have divested 
Henry of all his regal power, and therefore the 
treaty proved abortive. The consequences of that 



battle are well known : the king, prince Edward his 
son, his brother Richard, and many of his friends, 
fell into the hands of their enemies ; while two 
great barons of the king's party, John Earl of 
Warren, and Hugh Bigot the king's Justiciary, had 
been glad to escape into France. 

In the 1st stanza the aforesaid sum of thirty 
thousand pounds is alluded to ; but, with the usual 
misrepresentation of party malevolence, is asserted 
to have been the exhorbitant demand of the king's 
brother. 

With regard to the 2d stanza the reader is to 
note that Richard, along with the earldom of Corn 
wall, had the honours of Wallingford and Eyre 
confirmed to him on his marriage with Sanchia, 



90 



ON I Hi: DEATH OF KING EDWARD THE FIRST. 



daughter of the Count of Provence, m If 
Windsor Castle area to chief fortress belonging to 
tin- km.:, and bad 1 risoned by forei 

a circumstance arbieh famishes out the burthen of 

The 3d stanea alludes to ■ remarkable circum- 

vrhich happened on the day of the battle of 

After the battle area lost, Richard King of 

the I'. . refuge in a windmill, which he 

harrieadoed, and maintained for some time against 

ions, but in tin-. ibliged to Burren* 

\.r\ lull account of this in the Chronicle 

. 

4th stanza is of ohvi.ms interpretation : 

Richard, who had been elected King of the Romans 

'(i, and had afterwards gone over to take pos- 
i ol his dignity, was in the year 1259 about 
turn into England, when the barons raised a 
popular clamour that he was bringing with him 
rs to over-run the kingdom: upon which he 
forced to dismiss almost all bis followers, 
otherwise the barons would have opposed bis land- 
ing. 

In tlie 5th stanza the writer regrets the escape of 
the Earl of Warren ; and in the 6th and 7th stanzas 
insinuates, that, if be and Sir Hugh Bigot once fell 
into the hands of their adversaries, tbey should 
more return home; a circumstance which 
fixes the date of this ballad ; for, in the year 1265, 
both these noblemen landed in South Wales, and 
the royal party soon after gained the ascendant. See 
Efolinshed, Rapin, See. 

The following is copied from a very ancient MS. 
in the British Museum. [Harl. MSS. 2253. s. 23.] 
This MS. is judged, from the peculiarities of the 
writing, to be not later than the time of Richard II.; 
th being every where expressed by the character p ; 
the y is pointed after the Saxon manner, and the i 
bath an oblique stroke over it. 

SlTTETB alle stillo, ant herkneth to me ; 
1 he Kyng of Alemaigne, hi mi leaute, 
'I hritti thousenl pound askede be 

For te make the pees in the count re, 

Ant so he dude more. 5 

Richard, thah thou be ever trichard, 

Tricthen Shalt thou never more. 



Richard of Alemaigne, whil that he wes kyins. 

i ade al ia tresour opon s wyvvn g, 
Jliveth he nout of Walingford oferlyng, 

Let him hal.be, ase he bivw. halo to dryng, 

.Man- re \\ yndesore. 
• i.ih thou be ever, See. 



10 



The kyng of Alemaigne wende do ful wel 

I Is nsinodri the mulne for a casrel, li 

\\ uli bare aharpe swerdes he grounde the stel, 
He wende that the sayles were mangonel 
To helpe Wyndesore* 
Richard, thah thou be ever, .Sec. 

The kyng of Alemaigne gederede ys host, '-'0 

ftfakede bun a caste! of a mulne post, 
Wende with is prude, ant is muchele bost, 
Crohte from Alemayne mony son gost 
To store Wyndesore. 
Richard, thah thou be ever, 8tC 25 

By God, that is aboven ous, be dude muche synne, 
Tnat lette passen over see the Erl of \\ arvnne : 
lie hath robbed Engelond, the mores, ant th fenne, 
The gold, ant the selver, and y-boren henne, 

For love of Wyndesore. 30 

Richard, thah thou be ever, &c. 

Sire Simond de Mountfort bath suore bi ys chyn, 
Hevede he nou here the Erl of Waryn, 
Shuld he never more come to is yn, 
Ae with sbeld, ne with spere, ne with other gyn, 35 
To help of Wyndesore. 
Richard, thah tbou be ever, Sec. 

Sire Simond de Montfort bath suore bi ys cop 
Hevede he nou here Sire Hue de Bigot : 
Al be shulde grante here twelfmoneth scot 40 

Shulde be never more with his sot pot 

To helpe Wyndesore. 
Richard, thah tbou be ever, &c. 

Be the luef, be the loht, sire Edward, 
Thou shalt ride sporeles o thy hard 45 

Al the ryhte way to Dovere-ward, 
Shalt thou never more breke foreward ; 
Ant that rewetb sore 

Edward, thou dudest as a shreward, 

Forsoke thyn ernes lore 50 

Richard, &i.c. 
*„* This ballad will rise in its importance with 
the reader, when he finds that it is even believed to 
have occasioned a law in our Statute Book, viz. 
" Against slanderous reports or tales, to cause dis- 
cord betwixt king and people." (Westm. Primer, 
c. 31, anno 3. Edic. I.) That it had this effect, is 
the opinion of an eminent writer : See " Observa- 
tions upon the Statutes, Sec." 4to, 2d edit. 1766, 
,,.7 1. 

However, in the Harl. Collection may be found 
other satirical and defamatory rhymes of the same 
age, that might have their share in contributing to 
tins first law against libels. 



II. 



ill of KING EDWARD THE FIRST. 



^ ■• I' •'■ ". mpi at el 

I In, 

""■th of hi* age. Thui poem ap- 
■■ i Qia deatn. 

the ur.t.r dwell 



tion than his skill in government ; and pays less 
attention to tin' martial and political abilities of this 
monarch, in which he hail no equal, than to 
some liltle weaknesses of superstition, which he 
had in common frith all his contemporaries. The 

N«' l". • i. I., i. MS. i.e. graot their. Vi.l. GIo*s. 
Ver. ii. ii i HauKa was omitted m the former editions. 



ON THE DEATH OF KING EDWARD THE FIRST. 



.H 



king had in the decline of life vowed an expedition 
to the Holy Land ; but finding his end approach, he 
dedicated the sum of 32,0001. to the maintenance of 
a large body of knights (one hundred and forty say 
historians, eighty says our poet), who were to carry 
his heart with them into Palestine. This dying 
command of the king was never performed. Our 
poet, with the honest prejudices of an Englishman, 
attributes this failure to the advice of the King of 
France, whose daughter Isabel, the young monarch 
who succeeded immediately married. But the truth 
is, Edward and his destructive favourite Piers 
Gaveston spent the money upon their pleasures. — 
To do the greater honour to the memory of his 
hero, our poet puts his eloge in the mouth of the 
Pope, with the same poetic licence, as a more modern 
bard would have introduced Britannia, or the Ge- 
nius of Europe, pouring forth his praises. 

This antique elegy is extracted from the same 
MS. volume as the preceding article ; is found with 
the same peculiarities of writing and orthography ; 
and, though written at near the distance of half a 
century, contains little or no variation of idiom : 
whereas the next following poem by Chaucer, which 
was probably written not more than fifty or sixty 
vears after this, exhibits almost a new language. 
This seems to countenance the opinion of some 
antiquaries, that this great poet made considerable 
innovations in his mother tongue, and introduced 
many terms, and new modes of speech from other 
lano'uag-es. 

Alle, that beoth of huerte trewe, 

A stounde herkneth to my song 
Of duel, that Deth hath diht us newe, 

That maketh me syke, ant sorewe among ; 
Of a knyht, that wes so strong, 5 

Of wham God hath don ys wille ; 
Me-thuncheth that deth hath don us wrong, 

That he so sone shall ligge stille. 

A] Englond ahte for te knowe 

Of wham that song is, that y synge ; 10 

Of Edward kyng, that lich so lowe, 

Zent al this world is nome con springe : 
Trewest mon of alle thinge, 

Ant in werre war ant wys, 
For him we ahte oure hounden wrynge, 15 

Of Christendome he ber the prys. 

Byfore that oure kyng was ded, 

He spek ase mon that wes in care, 
" Clerkes, knyhtes, barons, he sayde, 

Y charge ou by oure sware, 20 
That ye to Engelonde be trewe. 

Y deze, y ne may lyven na more ; 
Helpeth mi sone, ant crouneth him newe, 

For he is nest to buen y-core. 

Ich biqueth myn herte arhyt, 25 

That hit be write at my devys, 
Over the see that Hue* be diht, 

With fourscore knyhtes al of prys, 
In werre that buen war ant wys, 

Azein the hethene for te fyhte, 30 

To wynne the croiz that lowe lys, 

Myself ycholde zef that y myhte." 

* The name of the person who was to preside over this 
business. 



Kyng of Fraunce, thou hevedest ' sinne/ 

That thou the counsail woldest fonde, 
To latte the wille of ' Edward kyng' 

To wende to the holy londe : 
That oure kyng hede take on honde 

All Engelond to zeme ant wysse, 
To wenden in to the holy londe 

To wynnen us heveriche blisse. 

The messager to the pope com, 

And seyde that our kynge w T as ded : 
Ys oune bond the lettre he nom, 

Ywis his herte. was full gret : 
The Pope him self the lettre redde, 

Ant spec a word of gret honour. 
Alas ! he seid, is Edward ded ! 

Of Christendome he ber the flour." 

The Pope to is chaumbre wende, 

For dol ne mihte.he speke na more ; 
Ant after cardinals be sende, 

That muche couthen of Cristes lore, 
Bothe the lasse, ant eke the more, 

Bed hem bothe rede ant synge : 
Gret deol me myhte se thore, 

Mony mon is honde wrynge. 

The Pope of Peyters stod at is masse 

With ful gret solempnete, 
Ther me con the soule blesse : 

" Kyng Edward honoured thou be : 
God love thi sone come after the, 

Bringe to ende that thou hast bygonne, 
The holy crois y-mad of tre, 

So fain thou wouldest hit hav y-wonne. 



40 



45 



50 



60 



65 



Jerusalem, thou hast i-lore 

The flour of al chivalrie 
Now kyng Edward liveth na more : 

Alas ! that he zet shulde deye ! 
He wolde ha rered up full heyze 

Oure banners, that brueth broht to grounde ; 
Wei! longe we mowe clepe and crie 70 

Er we a such kyng han y-founde." 



Nou is Edward of Carnarvan 

King of Engelond al aplyht, 
God lete him ner be worse man 

Then his fader, ne lasse of myht, 
To h olden is pore men to ryht, 

And understonde good counsail, 
Al Engelong for to wysse ant dyht ; 

Of gode knyhtes darh him nout fail. 



75 



80 



Thah mi tonge were mad of stel, 

Ant min herte yzote of bras, 
The godness myht y never telle, 

That with kyng Edward was : 
Kyng, as thou art cleped conquerour, 

In uch bataille thou hadest prys ; 85 

God bringe thi soule to the honour, 

That ever wes, ant ever ys. 

* # * Here follow in the original three lines more, 
which, as seemingly redundant, we chuse to throw 
to the bottom of the page, viz. 

That lasteth ay withouten ende, 
Bidde we God ant oure Ledy to thilke blisse 
Jesus us sende. Amen. 

Ver. 33, snnne, MS. Ver. 35, Kyng Edward, MS. Ver. 
43, ys is probablj a contraction of in hys or yn his. Ve r 
55, 59, Me, i. e. Men ; so in Robert of Gloucester passim. 



•j in; i i kvwiia r of Tottenham. 



hi 



A\ ORIGINAL BALLAD BY CIIAUCER. 



This litt' v inch h;ith escaped ill I the 

< liters of Chaucer's works, is now printed for the 

me from an ancient .MS. in the ivp\ sian library, 

that contains many other poems of its venerable au- 

D is of that species, which the 

French call Rondean, very naturally Englished by 

o-.ir honest count rymen Round O. Though bo 
early adopted by them, our ancestors had not the ho- 
nour of inventing it : Chaucer picked it up, along 
with taher better things, among the neighbouring 

nations. A fondness for laborious trifles hath al- 
ways prevailed in the dark ages of literature. The 
Creek poets have had their wings and axes: the 
neat father of English poesy may therefore be par- 
doned one poor solitary rondeau. — Geofrey Chaucer 
died Oct. 25, 1400, aged 72. 

1.1. 

Yovre two eyn will sle rue sodenly, 
I may the beaute of them not sustene, 
So wendeth it thorowout my herte keue. 



A rnl hut your words will helen hastely 
.My herds wound, while that it is greue, 
Youre two eyn will sle me sodenly. 

3. 

Upon my trouth I sey yow feithfully, 
That ye ben of my liife and deth the quene , 
For with my deth the trouth shal be sene. 
Youre two e 



II. 1. 

Bo hath youre beauty fro your herte chased 
Pitee, thai me a 1 availeth not to pleyn; 

For daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne. 

• 
2. 

Giltless my deth thus have ye purchased ; 
1 sey yow soth, me nedeth not to fayn : 
So hath your beaute fro your herte chased. 

3. 

Alas, that nature hath in yow compassed 
So grete beaute, that no man may atteyn 
To mercy, though he sterve for the peyn. 
So hath youre beaute, &c. 

III. 1. 

Syn I fro love escaped am so fat 

I nere thinke to ben in his prison tene ■ 

Syn I am fre, I counte him not a bene. 



He may answere, and sey this and that, 
I do no fors, I speak ryght as I mene ; 
Syn I fro love escaped am so rat. 



Love hath my name i-strike out of his sclat, 
And he is strike out of my bokes clene : 
For ever mo ' ther*' is non other mene. 
Syn I fro love escaped, etc. 



IV. 



THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM: 



" OS Mil. WOOl INC, WINNING, AND WEDDING OF TIHDE, THE REEV 3 DAVGIITER THERE. 



It doei honour to the good sense of this nation, 

while all Europe was captivated with the 

bewitching < barms of Chivalry and Romance, two of 

writers in the rudest times could see through 
the false glare that surrounded them, and di 

aa absurd in them both. Chaucer wrote 
I I bopai in ridicule of the latter ; 

■ in w -i- have a humorous bur- 
ofthe former. Without pretending to decide 
irhether the institution of chivalrj was upon the 
i or pernicious in the rude ages, a ques- 
mplo\ ed man iters*, 

■ utl\ . ncourn wl a i indicth e spirit, and 
m of duelling, that tl • 
Uttls ■ liabed. 1 1 

emes which often attended 

I urnament, w as sufficient to 

• pat l o| m.inkind. 
.en li i .nl\ .i.ii. 



1 I il.u-. 



against it, and the state was often prevailed on to at- 
tempt its suppression. But fashion and opinion 
are superior to authority: and the proclamations 
against tilting were as little regarded in those times, 
as the laws against duelling are in these. This did 
not escape the discernment of our poet, who easily 
perceived that inveterate opinions must be attacked 
by oilier weapons, besides proclamations and cen- 
sures ; he accordingly made use of the keen one of 
Ridicule. With this view he has here introduced 

with admirable humour a parcel of clowns, imitating 
all the solemnities of the Tourney. Here we have 
the regular challenge — the appointed day — the lady 
for the prise— the formal preparations — the display 

Of armour -the seueheons and devices — the oaths 
taken on entering the lists — the various accidents of 

the encounter -the \ ictor leading off the prize — and 
the magnificent feasting — with all the other solemn 
fopperies that usually attended the pompous Tur- 

Dament And how acutely the sharpness of the 

author's humour must have been felt in those days, 
• This, 



THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM. 



93 



we may learn from what we can perceive of its 
keenness now, when time has so much blunted the 
edge of his ridicule. 

The Turnament of Tottenham was first printed 
from an ancient MS in 1631, 4to, by the Rev. 
Whilhem Bedwell, rector of Tottenham, who was 
one of the translators of the Bible, and afterwards 
Bishop of Kilmore in Ireland, where he lived and 
died with the highest reputation of sanctity, in 1641 
He tells us, it was written by Gilbert Pilkington, 
thought to have been some time parson of the same 
parish, «and author of another piece, intitled Passio 
Domini Jesu Christi. Bedwell, who was eminently 
skilled in the oriental and other languages, appears 
to have been but little conversant with the ancient 
writers in his own ; and he so little entered into the 
spirit of the poem he was publishing, that he contends 
for its being a serious narrative of a real event, and 
thinks it must have been written before the time of 
Edward III, because Turnamentswere prohibited in 
that reign. "I do verily believe," says he, "that 
this Turnament was acted before this proclamation of 
King Edward. For how durst any to attempt to do 
that, although in sport, which was so straightly 
forbidden, both by the civill and ecclesiastical! 
power ? For although they fought not with lances, 
yet, as our author sayth, ' It was no childrens game.' 
And what would have become of him, thinke you, 
which should have slayne another in this manner of 
jeasting? Would he not, trow you, have been 
hang'd for it in earnest ? yea, and have bene buried 
like a dogge?" It is, however, well known that 
Turnaments were in use down to the reign of Eliza- 
beth. 

In the first editions of this work, Bedweli's copy 
was reprinted here, with some few conjectural emen- 
dations ; but as Bedwell seemed to have reduced the 
orthography at least, if not the phraseology, to the 
standard of his own time, it was with great pleasure 
that the Editor was informed of an ancient MS. copy 
preserved in the Museum [Harl. MSS. 5396.] which 
appeared to have been transcribed in the reign of King 
Hen. VI. about 1456. This obliging information 
the Editor owed to the friendship of Thomas Tyr- 
whit, Esq., and he has chiefly followed that more 
authentic transcript, improved however by some 
readings from Bedweli's Book. 

Of all thes kene conquerours to carpe it were kynde ; 
Of fele feyztyng folk ferly we fynde, 
The Turnament of Totenham have we in mynde ; 
It were harme sych hardynes were holden byhynde, 
In story as we rede 5 

Of Hawkyn, of Herry, 
Of Tomkyn, of Terry, 
Of them that were dughty 
And stabwortb in dede. 

It befel in Totenham on a dere day, 10 

Ther was mad a shurtyng be the hy-way . 
Theder com al the men of the contray, 
Of Hyssylton, of Hy-gate, and of Hakenay, 
And all the swete swynkers. 

Ther hopped Hawkyn, 15 

Ther daunsed Dawkyn, 
Ther trumped Tomkyn, 

And all were trewe drynkers. 

Ty] the day was gon and evyn-song past, [cast ; 

That thay schuld reckyn ther scot and ther counts 



Perkyn the potter into the press past, 21 

And sayd Randol the refe, a dozter thou hast, 
Tyb the dere : 

Therfor faine wyt wold I, 

Whych of all thys bachelery 25 

Were best worthye 

To wed hur to hys fere. 

Upstyrt thos gadelyngys wyth ther lang staves, 
And sayd, Randol the refe, lo ! thys lad raves ; 
Boldely amang us thy dozter he craves ; 30 

We er rycher men than he, and mor gode haves 
Of cattell and corn ; 

Then sayd Perkyn, To Tybbe I have hyzt 
That I scbal be alway redy in my ryzt, 
If that it schuld be thys day sevenyzt, 35 
Or elles zet to morn. 

Then sayd Randolfe the refe, Ever be he waryd 
That about thys carpyng lenger wold be taryd : 
I wold not my dozter, that scho were miscaryd, 
But at hur most worschip I wold scho were maryd ; 
Therfor a Turnament schal begynne 41 

Thys day sevenyzt, — 
Wyth a flayl for to fyzt : 
And « he,' that is most of myght 

Schal brouke hur wyth wynne. 45 

Whoso berys hym best in the turnament, 
Hym schal be granted the gre be the comon assent, 
For to wynne my dozter wyth ' dughtynesse' of dent, | 
And ' coppell' my brode-henne ' that' was brozt out j 
of Kent : 

And my dunnyd kowe 50 

For no spens wyl I spare, 
For no cattell wyl I care, 
He schall have my gray mare, 
And my spottyd sowe. 

Ther was many ' a' bold lad ther bodyes to bede : 55 j 
Than thay toke thayr leve, and homward they zede ; j 
And all the weke afterward graythed ther wede, 
Tyll it come to the day, that thay suld do ther dede. \ 
They armed ham in matts ; 

Thay set on ther nollys, 60 

For to kepe ther pollys, 
Gode blake bollys, 
For batryng of bats. 

Thay sowed tham in schepeskynnes, for thay schuld 

not brest : 
Ilk-on toke a blak hat, insted of a crest : 65 

' A basket or a panyer before on ther brest,' 
And a flayle in ther hande ; for to fyght prest, 
Furth gon thay fare : 

Ther was kyd mekyl fors 
Who schuld best fend hys cors : 7C 

He that had no gode hors, 
He gat hym a mare. 

Sych another gadryng have I not sene oft, 
When all the gret company com rydand to the croft 
Tyb on a gray mare was set up on loft 7 5 

On a sek ful of fedyrs, for scho schuld syt soft, 

Ver. 20, It is not very clear in the MS. whether it 
should be cont or conters. Ver. 48, dozty, MS. V. 49, 
coppled. We still use the phrase, "a cop pie-crowned hen." 
Ver. 57, gayed, PC. Ver. 66, is wanting in MS. and sup- 
pelld from PC. Ver. 72, He borrowed him, PC. V. 70, 
The MS. had once sedys, i.e. seeds, which appears to have 
been altered to fedyrs, or feather*. Berfw°U' .-opv ha 
Senvy, i. e. Mustard-seed. 



EM 



•] ill' I l'l!\ VMEN r OF TOTTENHAM. 



i ' till the 

of the men 
ter wold ii. it l\ b then, 

T\ 1 echo bad liur brode hi n 

B 



80 



I .1 Tyb bad on, borowed for. die nm 

Ami :i garland on bur bed ful ofronnde bonya, 
And abroobe i n Imr breel t\d of* aapphyre 1 Btonya , 
Wyth the holy-rode tokenyng, w.i> wrotyn for the 

noo 85 

For no ' apendiiiga 1 thay had spared. 

\\ ben ji>lv Gyb saw liur there, 

He gym to bya gray marc, 

' 'I'll it acho lete ■ fowlon' fare 
At the rareward. 90 

a to God, quoth Ilerrv, I schal not lefe behvnde, 
May I mete wyth Bernard on Bayard the blynde, 
1< h man kepe hvm out of my wynde, 
For whatsoever that he be, before me I fynde, 
1 wnt I schall hym greve. 
Welesavd, quoth Hawkyn. 
And I wow, quotli Dawkyn, 
May I mete wuh Toiukyu, 
Hys fiaylel acha] hym reve. 

I make a vow, quoth Hud, Tyb, son schal tliou 

100 
Whych of all thvs bachelery ' granted' is the gre : 
I achal acotnfet thaym all, for the love of the; 
In what place so 1 come they schal have doutof me, 
Myn amies ar so clere : 

I here a reddyl, and a rake, 105 

Poudred wyth a brenand drake, 
And three cantells of a cake 
In ycha cornere. 

I vow to God, quoth Hawkvn, vf ' I ' have the gowt, 

Al that I fynde in the felde ' tlirustand here 

aboute, HO 

lyn thnrgh the route, 

Ju ycha Btede tber thay me Be, ofmethay schal have 

\\ ben I begyn to play. [doute. 

I make a\ owe that I ne schall, 

J'.iit yf Tybbe w\l me call, 115 

Or I be thrves don fall, 
Ryal onys coin a«;iy, 

aayd T« rry, and swore be bya crede ; 
thou never vone boy further bya body bede, 

at taateal and most ar indrede, I - I 

I take Tyb by the baud, and bur away lede : 

i armed at the full ; 
In mj d armya I bare a ale 

A : !\ II arythont a panell, l . > 

a ..11. 

e n vow, quoth Dudman.and an ore be the atra, 

W lv. m) ' marc,' | 

• arele achapen, and list 
ipul in thy > myle l»« t< .r box u bal i; ISO 



i i> i imr to ■ ap, M 9 V.to i;. dwi Q'i PC. 

•H.lMi, 

n ads, writu n I I . ,i. I pi ,i,',,.- 

bad -in.. I. M^ \ M Hieo i im n, Ms 
- \. in., ii. 
US. In. nil;, In- Ibi V. 128 in. nli, MS. 



Bche wul ne nozt bl 
Bche wyl me here, I dar say, 
On a hmg somervs day, 
Fro Hyssylton to llakenay, 
Nozt other half my le. 



135 



I make a vow, quoth Peikyn, thow speksof cold rost, 
I schal wyrch ' aryselyer 1 without any bost : 
Fi\ e of the best capulys, that ar in thya ost, [cost, 
1 wot I schal thaym wynne, and brvng thaym to my 
And here I grant thaym Tybbe. 110 

Wele boyes here ys he, 

That wvl ryat, and not fle, 

For I am in my jolyte, 

Wyth so forth, Gybbe. 

When thay had ther vowes made, furih can thay 
hie, 1 15 

Wyth flayles, and homes, and trumpes mad of tre : 
Ther were all the bachelerys of that contre ; 
Thay were dyzt in aray, as thaymselfes wold be : 
Thayr baners were ful bryzt 

Of an old rotten fell; 150 

The cheveron of a plow-mell ; 
And the schadow of a bell, 
Poudred wyth the mone lyzt. 

[met, 
I wot yt ' was' ne chylder game, whan thay togedyr 
When icha freke in tlie feld on hys feloy bet, 155 
And lavd on styfly, for nothyng wold thay let, 
And foght ferly fast, tyll ther horses swet, 
And few wordys spoken. 

Ther were flayles al to slatred, 
Ther were scheldys al to Hatred, 160 

Bollys and dysches al to schatred, 
And many hedys brokyn. 

There was clynkyng of cart-sade lys, and clatteryng 

of cannes ; 
Of fele frekys in the feld brokyn were their fannes ; 
Of sum were tlie hedys brokyn, of sum the brayn- 

pannes, 
And yll were thay besene, or thay went thanns, 166 
Wyth swyppyng of s»vepvls : 

Thay were so wery for-foght, 

Thay myzt not fyzt mare oloft, 

But creped about in the ' croft,' 170 

As thay were croked crepyls. 

Peikyn was so wery, that he began to loute ; 
Help, Had, 1 am ded in thvs ylk rowte : 
An hors for forty pens, a gode and a stoute ! 
That 1 may lv/.tlv come ox my noye oute, 
For no cost w\l 1 spare. 
He styrt up as a snale, 
And bent a capul lie the tayle, 
And ' reft* Daw kin hys flay le, 

And wan there a mare. 180 

Perkyn wan live, and Hud wan twa: 

(ilad and blvlhe thav ware, that they had don sa ; 

Thay wold bare tham to Tyb, and present bur with 

tha: 
Ibi" Capnlla were so wery, that thay myzt not ga, 

\.i 137, rwysellor, MS. V. lit;, flailes, and barnisse, 
PC. V. l.-i. Hi. ri .. i. . PC V. I54,yt ys, MS. ¥.168, 
Theboyei were, MS. \. 170, crcpcd then about in the croft, 
KIS V. 170, rast, MS. 



FOR THE VICTORY AT AGINCOURT. 



95 



But styl gon thay stond. 185 

Alas ! quoth Hudde, my joye I lese ; 
Mee had lever then a ston ofchese, 
That dere Tvb had al these, 
And wyst it were my sond. 

Perkynturnyd hym about in that ych thrang 190 

Among thos wery boyes he wrest and he wrang ; 

He threw tham doun to the erth, and thrast tham 
amang, 

When he saw Tyrry away wyth Tyb fang, 
And after hym ran ; 

Off his horse he hym drogh, 195 

And gaf hym of hys flayl inogh : 
We te he ! quoth Tyb, and lugh, 
Ye er a dughty man. 

* Thus' thay tugged, and rugged, tyl yt was nere 

nyzt : 
All the wyvesof Tottenham came to sethat syzt 200 
Wyth wyspes, and kexis, and ryschys there lyzt, 
To fetch hom ther husbandes, that were tham trouth 
And sum brozt gret harwos, [pty zt j 

Ther husbandes hom to fetch, 
Sum on dores, and sum on hech, 205 

Sum on hyrdyllys, and som on crech, 
And sum on whele-barows. 

Thay gaderyd Perkyn about, ' on' everych syde, 
And grant hym ther ' the gre,' the more was hys 
pryde: [ryde, 

Tyb and he, wyth gret ' mirth' homward con thay 
And were al nyzt togedyr, tyl the morn tyde ; 211 



And thay ' to church went :' 
So wele hys nedys he has sped, 
That dere Tyb he ' hath' wed ; 
The prayse-folk, that hur led, 
Were of the Turnament. 



215 



To that ylk fest com many for the nones ; 

Some come hyphalte, and some trippand ' thither' on 

the stonys : 
Sum a staf in hys hand, and sum two at onys ; 
Of sum where the hedes broken, of some the schulder 



bonys ; 
With sorrow come thay thedyr. 
Wo was Hawkyn, wo was Herry, 
Wo was Tomkyn, wo was Terry, 
And so was all the bachelary, 
When thay met togedyr. 



220 



225 



V. 

FOR THE VICTORY AT AGINCOURT. 



That our plain and martial ancestors could wield 
their swords much better than their pens, will 
appear from the following homely rhymes, which 
were drawn up by some poet laureat of those 
days to celebrate the immortal victory gained at 
Agincourt, Oct. 25, 1415. This song or hymn is 
j given merely as a curiosity, and is printed from a 
MS copy in the Pepys collection, vol. I. folio . 

Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria ! 
Owre kynge went forth to Normandy, 
With grace and myzt of chivalry ; 
The God for hym wrouzt marvelously, 
Wherefore Englonde may calle, and cry 5 

Deo gratias : 

Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria. 



He sette a sege, the sothe for to say, 
To Harflue toune with ryal aray ; 
That toune he wan, and made a fray, 
That Fraunce shall rywe tyl domes day. 

Deo gratias : &c. 



10 



Then went owre kynge, with alle his oste, 
Thorowe Fraunce for all the Frenshe boste ; 
He spared ' for' drede of leste, ne most, 15 

Tyl he come to Agincourt coste. 

Deo gratias, &c. 

Ver. 185, stand, MS. V. 189, sand, MS. V. 199, Thys 
MS. V. 204, hom for to fetch, MS. V. 208, about everych 
side, MS. V. 209, the gre, is wanting in MS. V. 210, 
mothe, MS 



Than for sothe that knyzt comely 
In Agincourt feld he fauzt manly, 
Thorow grace of God most myzty 
He had bothe the felde, and the victory : 
Deo gratias, &c. 

Ther dukys, and erlys, lorde and barone, 
Were take, and slayne, and that wel sone, 
And some were ledde in to Lundone 
With joye, and merthe, and grete renone. 
Deo gratias, &c. 

Now gracious God he save owre kynge, 
His peple, and all his wel wyllynge, 
Gef him gode lyfe, and gode endygne, 
That we with merth mowe savely synge 
Deo gratias : 
Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria. 



§0 



30 



Ver. 21-2, And thay ifere assent, MS. V. 214, had wed, 
MS. Y. 215, The cheefemen, PC. V. 218, trippand on, 
MS. 

* In the former impressions, this concluding stanza was 
only given from BedwelTs printed edition ; but it is here 
copied from the old MS. wherein it has been since found 
separated from the rest of the poem, by several pages of a 
money-account, and other heterogeneous matter. 

■f Six-men's song, i. e. a song for six voices. So Shakes- 
peare uses Three-man song-men, in his Winter's Tale, A. III. 
sc. 3, to denote men that could sing catches composed for 
three voices. Of this sort are Weelkes's Madrigals men- 
tioned below, Book II. Song 9. So again Shakespeare has 
Three-men Beetle ; i. e. a Beetle or Rammer worked by 
three men. 2 Hen. IV. A. I. Sc 3. 



*At that fest thay wer servyd with a ryche aray, 

Every fyve & fy ve had a cokenay ; 

And so thay sat in jolyte al the lung day ; 

And at the last thay went to bed with ful gret de- 
ray : 
Mekyl myrth was them among ; 230 

In every corner of the hous 
Was melody delycyous 
For to here precyus 
Of six menys songf. 






'I HE SO l BR0V1 \ E M \VI>. 



\ 1 



THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD. 



■ nthnental beauties of 1 1 * i -^ ancient ballad 
inunended it to readers of taste, not- 
withstanding the ru-t of antiquity which obscures 
tyle and expression. Indeed, it' it had no other 
merit than the baring afforded the ground-work to 
Prior - -, •• Henry and Emma," this ought to preserve it 
from oblivion. That we are able to give it in so 
; a manner, is owing to the great care and ex- 
the accurate Editor of" the "Prolusions," 
who lias formed the text from two copies 
found in two different editions of Arnolde's Chroni- 
book supposed to be first printed about 1521. 
From the OOpy in the Prolusions the following is 
printed, with a few additional improvements gathered 
from another edition of Arnolde's book* preserved in 
the Public Library at Cambridge. All the various 
readings of this copy will be found here, either re- 
. into the text, or noted in the margin. The 
references to the Prolusions will shew where they 
occur. In our ancient folio MS. described in the 

Ei very corrupt and defective copy of this 
all:.. I, which yet afforded a great improvement in 
one | >10. 

It has i» en ■ much easier task to settle the text of 
this poem, than to ascertain its date. The ballad of 
the *' Nutbrowne Mayd" was first revived in "The 
Muses .Mercury for June, 1707." 4to. being prefaced 
with a little •• Essay on the old English Poets and 
P. Ktry: - ' fa which this poem is concluded to be 
'• near 300 years old," upon reasons which, though 
they appear inconclusive to us now, were sufficient 
to determine Prior ; who there first met with it. 
rer, this opinion had the approbation of the 
learned Wanley, an excellent judge of ancient books. 
For that whatever related to the reprinting of this 

old piece was referred to Wanley, appears from two 

of Prior's preserved in the British Museum 

[lla.1. MS8. V .;;;.) The Editor of the Prolu- 

■ cannot be older than the year 1500, 

because, in Sir Thomas More's Tale of " The Ser- 

&C. which was written about that time, there 

a a sameness of rvthmus and orthography, 
very near affinity of words and phrases, with 
if this ballad. But this reasoning is not con- 

il Mr Thomas More made this ballad 

■ ■ ry likely, that will account for the 

sameness of measure, and in some respect lor that of 

;i! "l phra as, even though this had been 

d. as for the orthography, it 

I known that the old printers reduced that of 

•o the standard of their own tunes. In- 

bardly probable that an antiquary like 

uld have inserted it among his historical 

" 'i had been then a modern piece; at 

be would have |„ en apt to have named its au- 

•v bow little can be inferred from a 
tyle, the editor of these 

Mi Pi supposes to be the 

: In folio j Mm i, .!,.,, ore numbered at the bottom 

rh. i n has 

llalrd with , |„ ,|„. 

Hi. rcadln 
tracted lb< •.. . .,,, .|. i, i,,i , 



volumes has in his ancient folio MS. a poem on the 
victory of Floddenfield, written in the same numbers, 
with the same alliterations, and in orthography, 
phraseology, and style nearly resembling the Visions 
of Pierce Plowman, which are yet known to have 
been composed above 160 years before that battle. 
As this poem is a great curiosity, we shall give a few 
of the introductory lines : 

u Grant gracious God, grant me this time, 
That I may 'say, or I cease, thy selven to please 
And Mary his mother, that maketh this world ; 
And all the seemlie saints, thatsitten in heaven 
1 will carpe of kings, that conquered full wide 
That dwelled in this land, that wasalyes noble: 
Henry the seventh, that soveraigne lord, &c." 

With regard to the date of the following ballad, we 
have taken a middle course, neither placed it so high 
as Wanley and Prior, nor quite so low as the editor 
of the Prolusions: we should have followed the 
latter in dividing every other line into two, but that 
the whole would then have taken up more room than 
could be allowed it in tins volume, 

Be it ryght, or wrong, these men among 

On women do complayne* ; 
Affyrmynge this, how that it is 

A labour spent in vayne, 
To love them wele ; for never a dele .*> 

They love a man agayne : 
For late a man do what he can, 

Theyr favour to attayne, 
Yet, yf a newe do them persue, 

Theyr first true lover than 1 I 

Laboureth for nought : for from her thought 

He is a banyshed man. 

I say nat nay, but that all day 

It is bothe writ and sayd 
That womans faith is, as who sayth, 15 

All utterly decay d ; 
But, neverthelesse ryght good wytnesse 

In this case might be layd, 
That they love true, and continue: 

Recorde the Not-browne Mayde : 20 

Which, when her love came, her to prove, 

To her to make his mone, 
Wolde nat depart ; for in her hart 

She loved but hym alone. 

Than betwaine us late us dyscus 25 

\\ hat was all the manere 
Betwayne them two: we wyll also 

Tell all the pavne, and fere, 
That she was in. Now I hegvn, 

So that ye me answere ; 30 



\ ei . "2, woman. Prolusions, and Mr. West's copy. V. 11, 
in i . i < . their. 

• My friend, Mr. Parmer, proposes to read the first lines 
thus, .1- .i I. itinism : 

lie u right «>■ wrong, 'tis menamnng, 
On women to complayne* 



HE iN'OT-BROWNE MA YD. 



97 



Wherfore, all ye, that present be 

I pray you, gyve an ere 
" I am the knyght ; I come by nyght, 

As secret as I can ; 
Sayinge, Alas ! thus standeth the case, 

I am a banyshed man." 

SUE. 

And 1 your wyll for to fulfyll 

In this wyll nat refuse ; 
Trustying to shewe, in wordes fewe, 

That men have an yll use 
(To theyr own shame) women to blame, 

And causelesse them accuse ; 
Therfore to you I answere no we, 

All women to excuse, — 
Myne owne hart dere, with you what chere 1 

I pray you, tell anone ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I love but you alone. 

HE. 

It standeth so ; a dede is do 

Wherof grete harme shall growe : 
My destiny is for to dy 

A shamefull deth, I trowe ; 
Or elles to fle : the one must be. 

None other way I knowe, 
But to withdrawe as an outlawe, 

And take me to my bo we. 
Wherfore, adue, my owne hart true ! 

None other rede I can ; 
For I must to the grene wode go, 

Alone, a banyshed man. 

SHE. 

Lord, what is thys worldys blysse, 
That changeth as the mone ! 

My somers day in lusty may 
Is derked before the none. 

1 here you say, farewell : Nay, nay, 

We depart nat so sone. 
Why say ye so ? wheder wyll ye go ? 

Alas ! what have ye done ? 
All my welfare to sorrowe and care 

Sholde chaunge, yf ye were gone ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

1 love but you alone. 



40 



45 



50 



60 



65 



70 



I can beleve, it shall you greve, 

And somewhat you dystrayne ; 
But, aftyrwarde, your paynes harde 75 

Within a day or twayne 
Shall sone aslake ; and ye shall take 

Comfort to you agayne. 
Why sholde ye ought? for, to make thought, 

Your labour were in vayne. 80 

And thus I do ; and pray you to, 

As hartely, as I can ; 
For I must to the grene wode go, 

Alone, a banyshed man. 

SHE. 

Now, syth that ye have shewed to me 85 

The secret of your mynde, 
I shall be playne to you agayne, 

Lyke as ye shall me fynde. 
Syth it is so, that ye wyll go, 

I wolle not leve behynde ; 90 

Ver. 63, The somtrs, Prol. 



Shall never be sayd, the Not-browne Mayd 

Was to her love unkynde : 
Make you redy, for so am I, 

Allthough it were anone ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 95 

I love but you alone, 

HE. 

Yet I you rede to take good hede 

What men wyll thynke, and say : 
Of yonge, and olde it shall be tolde, 

That ye be gone away, 1 00 

Your wanton wyll for to fulfill, 

In grene wode you to play ; 
And that ye myght from your delyght 

No lenger make delay. 
Rather than ye sholde thus for me 105 

Be called an yll woman, 
Yet wolde I to the grene wode go 

Alone, a banyshed man. 

SHE. 

Though it be songe of old and yonge, 

That I sholde be to blame, 110 

Theyrs be the charge, that speke so large 

In hurtynge of my name : 
For I wyll prove, that faythfulle love 

It is devoyd of shame ; 
In your dystresse, and hevynesse, 115 

To part with you, the same : 
And sure all tho, that do not so, 

True lovers are they none ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I love but you alone. 120 

HE. 

I counceyle you, remember howe, 

It is no maydens lawe, 
Nothynge to dout, but to renne out 

To wode with an outlawe : 
For ye must there in your hand bere 125 

A bowe, redy to drawe ; 
And, as a thefe, thus must you lyve, 

Ever in drede and awe ; 
Wherb}'" to you grete harme myght growe : 

Yet had I lever than, 13C 

That I had to the grene wode go, 

Alone, a banyshed man. 

SUE. 

I thinke nat nay, but as ye say, 

It is no maydens lore : 
But love may make me for your sake, 135 

As I have sayd before 
To come on fote, to hunt, and shote 

To gete us mete in store ; 
For so that I your company 

May have, I aske no more : lav 

From which to part, it maketh my hart 

As colde as ony stone ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I love but you alone. 

HE. 

For an outlawe this is the lawe, 1 45 

That men hym take and bynde ; 
Without pyte, hanged to be, 

And waver with the wynde, 

Ver. 91, Shall it never, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 94, Ah 
thought Mr. W. V. 117, To shewe all. Prol. ant. Mi. W. 
V. 133, I say nat, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 138, tr*. s.c/e, 
Camb. copy. 



1 Hi; NOT-BROW NE ma yd. 



It" 1 1 ':•• !) 

\\ bat mde ye fynde ? 

• ■ mid vcur Im.w I 

For fan erolde D|iwi behynde i 

mi -rv.i\lc j for 1\ tell ava\ le 

u an in your eoonoeyla than : 
\\ b e rf on I wyll to tli. le go, 155 

A! . .. I . j ihed man. 

. 
• wele knowe ye, that women be 
But lVl.lf for to fyght ; 

manhede it is unlede 

Id be belli*' u ■ knyg ht : loo 

Yet. in such fan vf that ye wore 

\\ ith ena my ea day or nyght, 

I woMe withstande. with bowe in hande, 

reve them as I myght, 
And you to save ; as women have 165 

From detli ' men' many one : 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I love but you alone. 



Yet take good hede ; for ever I drede 

That ye coude nat sustayne 170 

The thornie waves, the depe valeies, 

-nowe, the frost, the rayne, 
Tlie colde, the hete : for dry, or wete, 

W a must lodge on the plavne ; 
And, us above, none other rofe 175 

But a brake bush, or twayne : 
W huh sone sholde greve you, 1 beleve ; 

And ye wolde gladly than 
That 1 had to the grene wode go, 

Alone, a hanyshed man. 180 



I have here bene partynere 
With you of joy and bl 
I must also parte of your wo 

Endure, as reson l- : 
Yet am 1 Hire of one plesure ; 186 

Ami, ahortely, it is this : 
'1 "hat, when ye be, me Bemeth, parde, 
ode nat (are amyaae. 

Without more sperhe, 1 you hesi-( lie 

That vre wen- aone as 190 

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

J love ln;t yOO alone. 



o thyder, ye moat eonayder, 
\\ ban ye ban lust to dyne, 
Then shall do mate be fox yon gate, 195 

.\ or drinka, here, ale, ne iryne. 
• lene, to lye ban ane, 
of thrade ana twyne ; 

Oth< r li«. use, hut leves and how ea, 

I aryoor bed and n fOO 

< » in % ae barta an eta, tins btj 11 . 

; pale and wan ; 

Wberfbn I wyu to the gmne arodi 

Mr. W. V. lot, tad eight, 

' • l| • yi with m\ myght, Prol. 
r. M \ i. ae Mr. W. \ . i : i, "> i 

n.. I Mi. \\.' \ . 
201. I... ni\ ii 



Amonge the wylde dere, such an archere, 2C5 

As men sav that ye be, 
Ne may nat fayle of good vitayle, 

When is so grete plente : 
And water clere of the ryvere 

Shall be full swete to me ; 210 

With which in hele I shall rygbt wele 

Endure, as ye shall see ; 
And, or we go, a bedde or two 

I can provyde anone ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 215 

I love but you alone. 

HE. 

Lo yet, before, ye must do more, 

Yf ye wyll go with me : 
As cut your here up by your ere, 

Your kyrtel by the kne ; 220 

With bowe in hande, for to withstande 

Your enemyes yf nede be : 
And this same nyght before day-lyght, 

To wode-warde wyll I fle. 
Yf that ye wyll all this fulfill, 225 

Do it shortely as ye can : 
Els wyll I to the grene wode go, 

Alone, a banyshed man. 



I shall as nowe do more for vou 

Than lougeth to womanhede ; 230 

To shote my here, a bowe to bere, 

To shote in tyme of nede. 
O my swete mother, before all other 

For you I have most drede : 
But nowe, adue ! I must ensue, 235 

Where fortune doth me lede. 
All this make ye : Now let us fle ; 

The day cometb fast upon ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 

I love but you alone. 210 



Nay, nay, nat so ; ye shall nat go, 

And 1 shall tell ye why, 

Your appetyght is to be lyght 

Of love, I wele espy : 
For, lyke as ye have saved to me, 2 15 

In hke wyse hardely 
Ye wclde answere whosoever it were, 

In way of company. 
It is sayd of olde, Sone bote, sone colde ; 

And so is a woman. 250 

\\ herfore I to the wode wyll go, 

Alone, a banyshed man. 



Vf ye take hede, it is no nede 

Smh wordes to say by me ; 
For oft ye prayed, and longe assayed, 255 

Or I you loved, parde : 
And though that I of auncestry 

A barons daughter be, 
^i el have you proved bowe I you loved 

A aquyer of lowe degre j 260 



Ver. 207, Maj \r mi fayle, Prol. lb. May nat fayle, 
Mr. \\ \. 210, above your ere, ProL V. 220, above the 
kne,ProL and Mi. \\ . ' V. 223, the same, Prol. and Mr. 
^ ■ V. 151, l'"i I must to the Krene,wode go, Prol. and 
Mr. W. V. 253, yet it, Cainb. Copy. Perhaps for yt is. 



THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD. 


99 


And ever shall, whatso befall ; 


HE. 




To dy therfore* anone ; 
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 
I love but you alone. 


Myne owne dere love, I se the prove 

That ye be kynde, and true ; 
Of mayde, and wyfe, in all my lyfe, 


515 


HE. 


The best that ever I knewe. 




A barons chylde to be begylde ! 265 


Be mery and glad, be no more sad, 




It were a cursed dede ; 


The case is chaunged newe ; 




To be felawe with an outlawe ! 


For it were ruthe, that, for your truthe, 




Almighty God forbede ! 


Ye sholde have cause to rewe. 


320 


Yet beter were, the pore squyere 


Be nat dismayed ; whatsoever I sayd 




Alone to forest yede, 270 


To you, whan I began ; 




Than ye sholde say another day, 


I wyll nat to the grene wode go, 




That, by my cursed dede, 


I am no banyshed man. 




Ye were betray'd : Wberfore, good mayd, 






The best rede that I can, 


SHE. 




Is, that I to the grene wode go, 275 


These tydings be more gladd to me, 
Than to be made a quene, 


325 


Alone, a banyshed man. 




SHE. 


Yf I were sure they sholde endure : 




Whatever befall, I never shall 


But it is often sene, 




Of this thyng you upbrayd : 


Whan men wyll breke promyse, they speke 




But yf ye go, and leve me so, 


The wordes on the splene. 


330 


Than have ye me betrayd. 280 


Ye shape some wyle me to begyle, 




Remember you wele, howe that ye dele ; 


And stele from me, I wene : 




For, yf ye, as ye sayd, 
Be so unkynde, to leve behynde, 


Than were the case worse than it was, 




And I more wo-begone : 




Your love, the Not-browne Mayd, 


For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 


335 


Trust me truly, that I shall dy 205 


I love but you alone. 




Sone after ye be gone ; 






For, in my mynde of all mankynde 


HF. 




I love but you alone. 


Ye shall nat nede further to drede ; 




HE. 


I wyll nat dysparage 




Yf that ye went, ye sholde repent •, 

For in the forest nowe 290 


You, (God defend !) syth ye descend 




Of so grete a lynage. 


340 


I have purvayed me of a mayd , 
Whom I love more than you ; 
Another fayrere, than ever ye were, 


Nowe undyrstande ; to Westmarlande, 
Which is myne herytage, 




I wyll you brynge ; and with a rynge 




I dare it wele avowe ; 


By way of maryage 




And of you bothe eche sholde be wrothe 295 
With other, as I trowe : 


I wyll you take, and lady make, 


345 


As shortely as I can : 




It were myne ese, to lyve in pese ; 
So wyll I, yf I can ; 


Thus have you won an eilys son 
And not a banyshed man. 




Wherfore I to the wode wyll go, 






Alone, a banyshed man. 300 


AUTHOR. 

Here may ye se, that women be 




SHE. 


In love, meke, kynde, and stable : 
Late never man reprove them than, 


350 


Though in the wode I undyrstode 




Ye had a paramour, 


Or call them variable ; 




All this may nought remove my thought, 


But, rather, pray God, that we may 




But that I wyll be your : 
And she shall fynde me soft, and kynde 305 


To them be comfortable ; 




Which sometyme proveth such, as he loveth, 


355 


And courteys every hour ; 


Yf they be charytable. 




Glad to fulfyll all that she wyll 


For syth men wolde that women sholde 




Commaunde me to my power : 


Be meke to them each one , 




For had ye, lo, an hundred mo, 


Moche more ought they to God obey, 
And serve but hym alone. 




' Of them I wolde be one ;' 310 


360 


For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 
I love but you alone. 










Ver. 315, of all, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 325, gladder, Pro 
Mr. W. V. 340, grete lynyage, Prol. and Mr. W. V 


1. and 
.347, 


Ver. 262, dy with him. Editor's MS. V. 278, ontbrayed, 


Prol. and Mr. W. V. 282, ye be as, Prol. and Mr. VV. V. 


Then have. Prol. V. 348, and no banyshed, Prol. and Mr. 


283, Ye were unkynde to lev me behynde, Prol. and Mr. W. 


W. V. 352, This line wanting in Prol. and, Mi. W 


. V 


Ver. 310. So the Editor's MS. All the printed copies 


355, proved — loved, Prol. and Mr. W. lb. as loveth, C 


amb. 


read: 


V. 357, Forsoth, Prol. and Mr. W. 




Yet wold I be that one. 






• i. e. for this ca'ise • though I were to die for having 






krveu vvttc 







100 



CUPID'S ASSAULT: IJV LOKI) VAUX. 



VII. 



A BALE! i;Y Till: EARL RIVERS. 



Tin amiable light in which the character of 

u\ w i.Uilli- the gallant Earl Rivera hat been 

I bj the elegant Author of the Catalogue of 

teresta oa in whatever fell fromhia 

It ii pwamnad therefore that the insertion of 

this little Bonnet will be pardoned, though it should 

found to here much poetica] merit. It is the 

1 Poem known of that nobleman's ; his 

\ (..luminous works being only translations. 

And it' we consider that it was written during his 

cruel confinement in Pomfret castle a short time 

before ma execution in 1483, it gives us a fine 

picture of the composure and steadiness with which 

it Karl beheld his approaching fate. 

This ballad we owe to Rouse a contemporary 

historian, who seems to have copied it from the 

I own band writing: In tempore, says this 

writer, iiicarcerationis apud Pontem-fractum edidit 

iinuni Balet in angiitis, ut mild monstratum est, quod 

itur sub hi* verbis: Sim what Musing, &C. 

n Hilt Bvo. 2 Edit, p. 213." In Rouse the 2d 

i. ficc is imperfect, but the defects are here 

suj.pl ied from a more perfect copy printed in 

'• Ancient Songs, from the time of King Henry III. 

to the Revolution." page 87. 

This little piece, which perhaps ought rather to 

Lave been printed in stanzas of eight short lines, is 

q in imitation of a poem of Chaucer's, that will 

.ad in Lrry's Edit. 1721, p. boo, beginning 

thus : 

" Alone walkyng, Tn thought plainyng, 

And sore Bighying, All desolate. 
My remembrying Of my livyng 

My death wishyng liothe erly and late. 



Infortunate Is so my fate 

That wote ye what, Out of mesuio 
My life I hate ; Thus desperate 

in such pore estate, Doe 1 endure, &c.' 



Sumwhat musyng, And more mornyng, 
In remembring The unstvdfastnes ; 

This world being Of such whelyng, 
Me contrarieng, What may 1 gesse? 

I fere dowtles, Remediles, 

Is now to sese My wo full chaunce, 
[For unkyndness, \Vithouten less, 

And no redress, Me doth avaunce, 

With displesaunce, To my grevaunce, 
And no suraunce Of remedy.] 

Lo in this traunce, Now in substaunce, 
Such is my dawnce, Wyllyng to dye. 

Me thynkys truly, Bowndyn am I, 
And that gretly, To be content j 

Seyng playnly, Fortune doth wry 
All contrary From myn eutent. 



My lvffwas lent Me to on intent, 

llvtt is ny spent. Welcome fortune ' 
But I ne went Thus to be shent, 



10 



15 



20 



VIII. 
CUPID'S ASSAULT: BY LORD VAUX. 



Reader will think- that infant Poetry grew 
beta • • n the times of Rivera and Vaux, though 
nearly contemporaries ; if th 



follow ine Song is the 



composition of thai Sir Nicholas (afterwards Lord) 

who was the shining ornament of the court of 

\ 1 1, and died in the j 

i d n i- attributed by Putten- 

ham hi Li-. •• An of Eng. Poesie, L589. tto. a writer 

mly well informed : take the passage at \bt\ <•. 

" In • [Counterfait Action] the Lord 

Nicholas Vaux, a noble gentleman and much de- 

■ ■! in vulgar making, and a man others 

, hui having herein a man aloui 

the Battayle and 

It of t 'upi llenth w ell, as tor the 

• ancl pronre application of Ins fiction id every 

reateal part 

in truth it cannot be amended. 

a i.ir.lu r 

■ • ol Nid ola Lord 1 I . w alpole'a 

Noble Authora, \ ol. L 



The following Copy is printed from the first Edit, 
of Surrey's Poems, 1557, lto. — See another Song of 
Lord Vaux's in the preceding Vol. Book II. No. II. 

When Cupide scaled first the fort, 
Wherein my hart lay wounded sore; 

The batry was of such a sort, 

That 1 must yelde or die therfore. 

There sawe I Love upon the wall, 5 

How he his banner did display : 
Alarme, alarme, he gan to call : 

And bad his souldiours kepe aray. 

The amies, the which that Cupide bare, 

Were pearced hartes with teares besprent, 10 

In silver and sable to declare 

J he atedfaat love, he alwayes inent. 



SIR ALDINGAR. 



101 



There might you se his band all drest 
In colours like to white and blacke, 

With powder and with pelletes prest 15 

To bring the fort to spoile and sacke. 

Good-wyll, the maister of the shot, 

Stode'in the rampire brave and proude, 

For spence of pouder he spared not 
Assault ! assault ! to crye aloude. 20 

TJere might you heare the cannons rore ; 

Eche pece discharged a lovers loke ; 
Which had the power to rent, and tore 

In any place whereas they toke. 

And even with the trumpettes sowne 25 

The scaling ladders were up set, 
And Beau tie walked up and downe, 

With bow in hand, and arrowes whet. 

Then first Desire began to scale, 

And shrouded him under ' his ' targe ; 30 

As one the worthiest of them all, 

And aptest for to geve the charge. 

Then pushed souldiers with their pikes, 
And halberdes with handy strokes ; 

The argabushe in fleshe it lightes, 35 

And duns the ayre with misty smokes. 

And, as it is the souldiers use 

When shot and powder gins to want, 

I hanged up my flagge of truce, 

And pleaded up for my lives grant. 40 

When Fansy thus had made her breche, 

And Beauty entred with her band, 
With bagge and baggage, sely wretch, 

I yelded into Beauties hand. 

Then Beautie bad to blow retrete, 45 

And every souldier to retire, 
And mercy wyll'd with spede to fet 

Me captive bound as prisoner. 

Madame, quoth I, sith that this day 

Hath served you at all assayes, 50 

I yeld to you without delay 

Here of the fortresse all the kayes. 

And sith that I have ben the marke, 
At whom you shot at with your eye ; 

Nedes must you with your handy warke 55 

Or salve my sore, or let me die. 



%* Since the foregoing song was first printed 
off, reasons have occurred, which incline me to be- 
lieve that Lord Vaux the poet was not the Lord 
Nicholas Vaux, who died in 1523, but rather a suc- 
cessor of his in the title. — For in the first place it is 
remarkable that all the old writers mention Lord 
Vaux, the poet, as contemporary or rather posterior 
to Sir Thomas Wyat, and the Earl of Surrey, neither 
of which made any figure till long after the death of 
the first Lord Nicholas Vaux. Thus Puttenham, in 
his " Art of English Poesie, 1589," in p, 48, having 
named Skelton, adds, " In the latter end of the 
same kings raigne [Henry VIII.] sprong up a new 
company of courtly makers [poets], of whom Sir 
Thomas Wyat th' elder, and Henry Earl of Surrey, 
were the two chieftaines, who having travailed into 
Italie, and there tasted the sweet and stately mea- 
sures and stile of the Italian poesie . . greatly polished 
our rude and homely manner of vulgar poesie . . In 
the same time, or not long after, was the Lord Nicholas 
Vaux, a man of much facilitie in vulgar making *." 
— Webbe, in his Discourse of English Poetrie, 1586, 
ranges them in the following order, " The Earl of 
Surrey, the Lord Vaux, Norton, Bristow." And 
Gascoigne, in the place quoted in the 1st vol. of 
this work [B. II. No. II.] mentions Lord Vaux after 
Surrey. — Again, the stile and measure of Lord 
Vaux's pieces seem too refined and polished for the 
age of Henry VII. and rather resemble the smooth- 
ness and harmony of Surrey and Wyat, than the 
rude metre of Skelton and Hawes. — But what puts 
the matter out of all doubt, in the British Museum 
is a copy of his poem, I loihe that I did love, [vid. 
vol. I. ubi supra] with this title, " A dyttye or sonet 
made by the Lord Vaus, in the time of the noble 
Quene Marye, representing the image of Death." 
Harl. MSS. No. 1703, § 25. 

It is evident then that Lord Vaux the poet was 
not he that flourished in the reign of Henry VII. 
but either his son, or grandson : and yet according 
to Dugdale's Baronage, the former was named 
Thomas, and the latter William : but this difficulty 
is not great, for none of the old writers mention the 
Christian name of the poetic Lord Vauxf, except 
Puttenham ; and it is more likely that he might be 
mistaken in that lord's name, than in the time in 
which he lived, who was so nearly his contemporary. 

Thomas Lord Vaux, of Harrowden in Northamp- 
tonshire, was summoned to parliament in 1531. 
When he died does not appear ; but he probably 
lived till the latter end of Queen Mary's reign, since 
his son 

William was not summoned to parliament till the 
last year of that reign, in 1558. This Lord died in 
1595. See Dugdale, vol. ii. p. 304. — Upon the 
whole I am inclined to believe that Lord Thomas 
was the poet. 



IX. 

SIR ALDINGAR. 



This old fabulous legend is given from the editor's 
folio MS. with conjectural emendations, and the in- 
sertion of son;* additional stanzas to supply and 
complete the stiry. 

It has been yyggpsted to the editor, that the 



V. *rt. hpr, YA. 1557, so, Ed. 1585. 



author of this poem seems to have had in his eye 
the story of Gunhilda, who is sometimes called 
Eleanor, and was married to the emperor (here 
called King) Henry. 

* i. e. Compositions in English. 

t In the Paradise of Dainty Devises, 1596, he is called 
simply " Lord Vaux the elder." 



i SIR U.niXGAR. 


o '.', 


If vou had chosen a right good knight, 




\ Ming.ir they lmn call j 


The lesse had been your shame: 




N ard than h< was ciic, 


But vou have chose vou a lazer man, 




Si rde MM in bower nor hall. 


A lazej both blinde and lame. 


60 


ll<- wolde have layne l>v mir comelye queene, 5 


Therfore a fver there shall be built, 




1 lar ilt-i-rt- arorahip] i- t.) In traye : 


And brent all shalt thou bee. 




Our queene she rh b Rood woman, 


" \ ow out alacke ! said our cornly queene, 




Anil evermore said liim nave. 


Sir Aldin gar's false to mee. 




tldingar was vrrothe in his mind) 


Now out alacke ! snvd our comlve queene, 


65 


U I'll her lice was never oontent, 10 


My heart with griefe will brast. 




Till traiterona meenea In- oolde devyee, 


I had thought swevens had never been true j 




In ■ fyer to bare her brent. 


1 have proved them true at last. 




Th«TB ramp a lazar to the kings gate, 


I dreamt in my sweven on thursday eve, 




\ laser l>t>th blinde and lame : 


In mv bed wlieras I laye, 


70 


He tnoke the lazar upon his backe, 15 


I dreamt a grype and a grimlie beast 




Him on the queenes bed Las layne. 


Had carryed my crowne awaye ; 




" Lye still, lazar, wlieras thou lyest, 


My gorgett and my kirtle of golde, 




Looke thou goe not hence away ; 


And all my faire head-geere ; 




De make thee B whole man and a sound 


And he wold worrye me with his tush 


75 


In two bowers of the day*." 20 


And to his nest y-beare : 




Then went him forth sir Aldingar, 


Saving there came a little ' gray' hawke, 
A merlin him they call, 




And lived him to our king : 




" I f I might have grace, as 1 have space, 


Which untill the grounde did strike the grype 




Sad tydings I could bring." 


That dead he downe did fall. 


'80 


i. aay on, sir Aldingar, 25 
x i j e on the soothe to mee, 
" Our qneene hath chosen a new new love, 
And shee will have none of thee. 


Giffe I were a man, as now I am none, 

A battell wold I prove, 
To fight witli that traitor Aldingar ; 

Att him I cast my glove. 






"If shee had chosen a right good knight, 

The lesse had beene her shame ; 30 






But seeing Ime able noe battell to make, 


85 


But she hath chose her a lazar man, 


My liege, grant me a knight 




A lazar both blinde and lame." 


To fight with that traitor sir Aldingar, 
To maintain e me in my right." 




If this be true, thou Aldingar, 






The tyding thou tellest to me, 


" Now forty dayes I will give thee 




Then will I make thee a rich rich knight, 35 


To seeke thee a knight therin : 


90 


Kith both of golds and fee. 


If thou find not a knight in forty dayes 
Thy bodye it must brenn." 




Hut if it be false, sir Aldingar, 






la God nowe grant it bee 1 


Then shee sent east, and shee sent west, 




Thy body, I iweare by the bolye rood, 


By north and south bedeene : 




DhaU hang on the gallows tree. 10 


But never a champion colde she find, 
Wolde fight with that knight soe keene. 


95 


He brought our king to the qneenes chamber, 






And upend to linn the (lore. 


Now twenty dayes were spent and gone, 




A lodlye love, king Harry Bays, 


Noe helpe there might be had ; 




1 Of our qneene dame Elinore ! 


Many a teare shed our comelye queene 






And aye her hart was sad. 


100 


Il tin hi were a man, as thou art none, 45 






I l<T»- on my swoni thoual dye ; 


Then came one of the queenes damselles, 




■ payre or new gaUowee shall be built, 


And knelt upon her knee, 




And th.-rc ihalt thou hang on bye. 


" Cheare up, cheare up, my gracious dame, 




then eyed cur kii 


I trust yet helpe may be : 








Ami an ai.-ry man ua, I,,-,- • 50 

: Boone be found qneene Blinore, 


And here I will make mine avowe, 


105 


And with the same me binde ; 


t 


: bite. 


I hat never will 1 return to thee, 




madame, 


Till I some helpe may finde." 






1 




1 hen forth she rode on a faire pal frays 
Oar lull and dale about : 




Heen ..«,. i, lV ,. f 


110 


Ami roa will fa : 


Bui never a champion colde she finde, 
Wolde fights with that knight so stout. 




* "• i n*«blj in Mm ..i.-« id .i on |,| i,,..,! | II1M |, y 

BM | 


1 - r.77, mc below, vcr. 137. 



SIR ALDINGAR. 



103 



And nowe the daye drewe on a pace, 

When our good queene must dye ; 
All woe-begone was that faire damselle, 115 

When she found no helpe was nye. 

All woe-hegorie was that faire damselle, 
And the salt teares fell from her eye : 

When lo ! as she rode hy a rivers side, 

She met with a tinye boye. • 120 

A tinye hoye she mette, God wot, 

All clad in mantle of golde ; 
He seemed noe more in mans likenesse, 

Then a childe of four yeere olde. 

Why grieve you, damselle faire, he sayd, 125 

And what doth cause you moane ? 
The damsell scant wolde deigne a looke, 

But fast she pricked on. 

Yet turn again e, thou faire damselle, 

And greete thy queene from mee : 130 

When hale is att hyest, hoote is nyest, 

Nowe helpe enoughe may bee. 

Bid her remember what she dreamt 

In her bedd, wheras shee laye ; 
How when the grype and the grimly beast 135 

Wolde have carried her crowne awaye, 

Even then there came the little gray hawke, 

And saved her from his clawes : 
Then bidd the queene be merry at hart, 

For heaven will fende her cause. 140 

Back then rode that faire damselle, 

And her hart it lept for glee : 
And when she told her gracious dame 

A gladd woman then was shee. 

But when the appointed day was come, 145 

No helpe appeared nye : 
Then woeful, woeful was her hart, 

And the teares stood in her eye. 

And nowe a fyer was built of wood ; 

And a stake was made of tree ; 150 

And nowe Queene Elinor forth was led, 

A sorrowful sight to see. 

Three times the herault he waved his hand, 

And three times spake on hye : 
Giff any good knight will fende this dame, 155 

Come forth, or shee must dye. 

No knight stood forth, no knight there came, 

No helpe appeared nye : 
And now the fyer was lighted up. 

Queen Elinor she must dye. 160 

And now the fyer was lighted up, 

As hot as hot might bee ; 
When riding upon a little white steed, 

The tinye boy they see. 

" Away with that stake, away with those brands, 
And loose our comelye queene : 166 

I am come to fight with Sir Aldingar, 
And prove him a traitor keene." 



Forthe then stood Sir Aldingar, 

But when he saw the chylde, 170 

He laughed, and scoffed and turned his backe, 

And weened he had been beguylde. 

" Now turne, nowturne thee, Aldingar, 

And eytber fighte or flee ; 
I trust that I shall avenge the wronge, 175 

Though I am so small to see." 



The boye pulld forth a well good sworde 

So gilt it dazzled the ee ; 
The first stroke stricken at Aldingar 

Smote off his leggs by the knee. 180 

" Stand up, stand up, thou false traitor, 

And fight upon thy feete, 
For and thou thrive, as thou begin'st, 

Of height wee shall be meete." 



A priest, a priest, sayes Aldingar, 185 

While I am a man alive. 
A priest, a priest, sayes Aldingar, 

Me for to houzle and shrive. 

I wolde have laine by our comlie queene, 

Bot shee wolde never consent; 190 

Then I thought to betraye her unto our kinge 
In a fyer to have her brent. 

There came a lazar to the kings gates, 

A lazar both blind and lame ; 
I tooke the lazar upon my backe, 195 

And on her bedd had him layne. 

Then ranne I to our comlye king, 

These tidings sore to tell. 
But ever alacke ! sayes Aldingar, 

Falsing never doth well, 200 

Forgive, forgive me, queene, madame, 

The short time I must live, 
" Nowe Christ forgive thee, Aldingar, 

As freely I forgive." 

Here take thy queene, our King Harrye, 205 

And love her as thy life, 
For never had a king in Christentye, 

A truer and fairer wife. 



King Henrye ran to claspe his queene, 

And loosed her full sone ; 210 

Then turnd to look for the tinye boye ; 
The boye was vanisht and gone. 

But first he had touchd the lazar man, 

And stroakt him with his hand : 
The lazar under the gallowes tree 215 

All whole and sounde did stand. 



The lazar under the gallowes tree 

Was comelye, straight and tall ; 
King Henrye made him his head stewarde 

To wpyte withinn his hall. *** 220 






TH j: G \'inti.i NZTK WAV. 



THE GABERLUNZIE MAN. 



A SCOTTISH SONG. 



Tradition inform* us thai the tothot of this song 

Kins FamTHi V. of Scotland. This prince 

(whooe character fur nit end libertinism beers a 

mblanoe to that of faia gay successor 

Charles II.) was DOted for Strolling about his do- 
minions in disguise*, end for hia frequent gallantries 

With country eirle. Two adventures of this kind he 
bath celebrated with hie own pen, viz. in this ballad 
■ • •• 1 be Geberiunaie -Man;'' and in another, entitled 
'• I be Jolly Beggar," beginning thus : 
" Their area a jollie beggar, and a begging he was 

boun, 
And he tuik up his quarters into a land'art toun. 

Fa, la, la, &c." 

It seems to be the latter of these ballads (which 
iO licentious to be admitted into this collection) 
that is meant in the Catalogue of Royal and Noble 
Authors f, where the ingenious writer remarks, that 
there is something very ludicrous in the young wo- 
man's distress when she thought her first favour had 
thrown away upon a beggar. 
Biahop Tanner has attributed to James V. the 
celebrated ballad of" Christ's Kirk on the Green," 
which is ascribed to King James I. in Bannatyne's 
MS. written in 1568: and notwithstanding that 
authority, the editor of this book is of opinion that 
j> Tanner was right. 
King James V. died Dec. loth, 1542, aged 33. 

I hi peaky enld Carle came ovir the lee 
A\ i' monv good-eena and days to mee, 
Baying, Goodwife, forzour courtesie, 

\\ ill ze lodge a silly poor man ? 
The night was rauld, the carle was wat, 5 

And down azoul the ingle he sat ; 

My dochters shoulders be gen to clap, 

And Cedgily ranted and sang. 



11 '■• ! quo he, W( re 1 as in^, 

As lirst when I saw this countrie, 

Hon bl) th and merry wad I heo ! 

And 1 wad nevir think bmg. 

■ w cantv, and she grew fain ; 

But little did her auld minnj Ken 
What ihir sh-e tws togither were say'n, 
When wooing they arereee thrang. 



And () ! qno he, inn Be were as black, 

br the crown of your dadyes bat, 
I [wad] ij th< i bj o j b i 

And awa w i' DM thoU SOttld 

And 01 quoth the, inn I were ei white, 

ieS 00 the dike, 
J!<l < I. ad DM bna . and lady-like, 

iwa « ith thee lid gang* 

da :i plot ; 
the < 
the l' < k. 



i.i 



SO 



25 



i lo vi»ii 
uiihh'i i 

• \ I II. ,.. 



VI..I. 



i he i 



And fast to the bent are they i^ane. 
Up tlie mom the auld wife raise, 
And at her leisure put on her claiths, 30 

Syne to the servants bed she gaea 
To speir for the silly poor man. 

She gaed to the bed, whair the beggar lay, 

The strae was cauld, he was away, 

She clapt her hands, cryd, Dulefu' day ! 35 

For some of our geir will be gane. 
Some ran to coffer, and some to kist, 
But nought was stown that could be mist. 
She dancid her lane, cryd, Praise be blest, 

I have lodgd a leal poor man. 40 

Since naithings awa, as we can learn, 

The kirns to kirn, and milk to earn, 

Gae butt the house, lass, and waken my bairn, 

And bid her come quickly ben. 
The servant gaed where the dochter lay, 45 

The sheets was cauld, she was away, 
And fast to her goodwife can say, 

Shes aff with the gaberlunzie-man. 

O fy gar ride, and fy gar rin, 

And hast ze, find these traitors agen ; 50 

For shees be burnt, and hees be slein, 

The wearyfou gaberlunzie-man, 
Some rade upo horse, some ran a fit, 
The wife was wood, and out o' her wit ; 
She could na gang, nor yet could she sit, 55 

But ay did curse and did ban. 

Mean time far hind out owre the lee, 
For snug in a glen, where nane could see, 
The twa, with kindlie sport and glee, 

Cut frae a new cheese a whang. 60 

The priving was gude, it pleas'd them baith, 
To lo'e her for ay, he gae her his aith. 
Quo she, to leave thee, 1 will be laith, 

JNly winsome gaberlunzie-man. 

O kend my minny I were wi' zou, 65 

Illfardly wad she crook her mou, 
Sic a poor man sheld nevir trow, 

Aftir the gaberlunzie-mon. 
My dear, quo he, zee're zet owre zonge; 
And bee DO learnt the beggars tonge, 70 

To follow me frae toun to toun, 

And carrie the gaberlunzie on. 

Wi' kauk and keel, 111 winzour bread, 

And spindles and whorles for them w ha need 

\\ bilk is a genti] trade indeed 75 

The gaberlunzie to can-it? — o. 
Ill bow my leg and crook my knee, 
And draw a hlack clout owre my ee, 

A criple <»r blind they will can me: 
\\ bile we sail sing and be merrie — o. 



Nil. 89, The C.nliiic. Other co^es. 



ON THOMAS LORD CROMWELL 



105 



XI. 



ON THOMAS LORD CROMWELL. 



It is ever the fate of a disgraced minister to be 
forsaken by his friends, and insulted by his enemies, 
always reckoning among the latter the giddy incon- 
stant multitude. We have here a spurn at fallen 
greatness from some angry partisan of declining 
Popery, who could never forgive the downfall of 
their Diana, and loss of their craft. The ballad 
seems to have been composed between the time of 
Cromwell's commitment to the Tower, June 11, 
1 540, and that of his being beheaded July 28, follow- 
ing. A short interval ! but Henry's passion for 
Catharine Howard would admit of no delay. Not- 
withstanding our libeller, Cromwell had many excel- 
lent qualities : bis great fault was too much obse- 
quiousness to the arbitrary will of his master ; but 
let it be considered that this master had raised him 
from obscurity, and that the high-born nobility bad 
shewn him the way in every kind of mean and servile 
compliance. — The original copy printed at London 
in 1540, is intitled, " A newe ballade made of Thomas 
Crumwel, called Trolle on away." To it is prefixed 
this distich by way of burthen, 

Trolle on away, trolle on awaye. 

Synge heave and ho we rombelowe trolle on away. 

Both man and chylde is glad to here tell 
Of that false traytoure Thomas Crumwell, 
Now that he is set to learne to spell. 

Synge trolle on away. 

When fortune lokyd the in thy face, 
Thou haddyst fayre tyme, but thou lackydyst grace ; 
Thy cofers with golde thou fyllydst a pace. 6 

Synge, &c. 

Both plate and chalys came to thy fyst, 
Thou lockydst them vp where no man wyst, 
Tyll in the kynges treasoure suche thinges were 
myst. 

Synge, &c. 

Both crust and crumme came thorowe thy handes,10 
Thy marchaundyse sayled over the sandes, 
Therfore nowe thou art layde fast in bandes. 

Synge, &c. 

Fyrste when kynge Henry, God saue his grace ! 
Perceyud myschefe kyndlyd in thy face, 
Then it was tyme to purchase the a place. 15 

Synge, &c. 

Hys grace was euer of gen tyll nature, 
Mouyd with petye, and made the hys seruyture ; 
But thou, as a wretche, suche thinges dyd procure. 

Synge, &c. 



Thou dyd not remembre, false heretyke, 

One God, one fayth, and one kynge catholyke, 

For thou hast bene so long a scysmatyke. 

Synge, &c< 



20 



Thou woldyst not learne to knowe these thre ; 
But euer was full of iniquite : 

Wherfore all this lande bathe ben troubled with the. 

Synge, &c. 

All they, that were of the new trycke, 25 

Agaynst the churche thou baddest them stych'e j 
Wherfore nowe thou haste touchyd the quycke. 

Synge, &c. 

Bothe sacramentes and sacramentalles 
Thou woldyst not sunre within thy walles ; 
Nor let vs praye for all cbrysten soules. 30 

Synge, &c. 

Of what generacyon thou were no tonge can tell, 
Whyther of Chayme, or Syschemell, 
Or else sent vs frome the deuyll of hell. 

Synge, &c. 



Tho woldest neuer to vertue applye, 
But couetyd euer to clymme to bye, 
And nowe haste thou trodden thy shoo awrye. 

Synge, &c 



35 



Who-so-euer dyd winne thou wolde not lose ; 
Wherfore all Englande doth hate the, as I suppose 
By cause thou wast false to the redolent rose. 

Synge, &c. 

Thou myghtest have learned thy cloth to flocke 40 
Upon thy gresy fullers stocke ; 
W r herfore lay downe thy heade vpon this blocke. 

Synge, &c. 

Yet saue that soule, that God hath bought, 
And for thy carcas care thou nought, 
Let it suffre payne, as it hath wrought. 45 

Synge, &c. 

God saue kyng Henry with all his power, 
And prynce Edwarde that goodly flowre, 
With al hys lordes of great honoure. 

Synge trolle on awaye, syng trolle on away. 

Hevye and how rombelowe trolle on awaye. 

t+t The foregoing Piece gave rise to a poetic 
controversy, which was carried on through a suc- 
cession of seven or eight Ballads written for and 
against Lord Cromwell. These are all preserved 
in the archives of the Antiquarian Society, in a large 
folio Collection of Proclamations, &c, make in the 
reigns of King Henry VIIL, King Edward VL, 
Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth, King James I, &c. 



Ver. 32, i. e. Cain or Ishmael. V. 41. Cromwell's father is 
generally said to have been a blacksmith at Putney : but 
the author of this Ballad would insinuate that either he him- 
self or some of his ancestors were Fullers by trade. 









HARPALUS. 


xir. 




HARPALUS. 




AN ANCII.NT KNGLISH PASTOHAL. 




This beautiful poem, which is perhaps the first at- 


His eyes were red, and all * forewacht' ; 




tempt it pastoral irriting in our Language) is pre- 


His face besprent with teares : 




! lumuii,' the " Bongs and Sonnettes" of the Earl 


It semde unhap had him long ' hatcht', 


35 ' 


rrey, «c 4to, En that part of the collection, 


In niids of his dispaires. 




which consists of pieces hv " Uncertain Auctours." 






Then poems were first published in 1557, ten years 


His clothes were blacke, and also bare ; 




after lliat accomplished nobleman fell a victim to the 


As one forlorne was he ; 




t\ r.univ of Henry \"1 1 1 , hut it is presumed most of 


Upon his head alwayes he ware 




them were composed before the death of Sir Thomas 


A wreath of wyllow tree. 


40 : 


W 'vatt in 1541. See Surrey's Poems, 4to ; fol. 19, 








His beastes be kept upon the hyll, 




Though written perhaps near half a century before 


And lie sate in the dale ; 




the " Shepherd's Calendar*,'' this will be found far 


And thus with sighes and sorrowes shril, 




superior to any of those Eclogues, in natural un- 


He gan to tell his tale. 




affected sentiments, in simplicity of style, in easy 






ll m of versification, and all other beauties of pasto- 


Oh Ilarpalus ! (thus would he say) 


45 


ral poetry. Spenser ought to have profited more by 


Unhappiest under sunne ! 




so excellent a model. 


The cause of thine unhappy day, 
By love was first begunne. 




Piiyi.ida was a fairo mayde, 






As fresh as any fiowre ; 


For thou wentest first by sute to seeke 
A tigre to make tame, 


1 


Whom Ilarpalus the Herdman prayde 


50 j 


To be his paramour. 


That settes not by thy love a leeke ; 




Ilarpalus, and eke Corin, 5 


But makes thy griefe ber game. 




Were herdmen both yfere : 


As easy it were for to convert 




And Fhvlida could twist and spinne, 


The frost into ' a' flame ; 




And thereto sing full clere. 


As for to turne a frowarde hert, 


55 




Whom thou so faine wouldst frame. 




Bui Phvlida was all to coye, 






For Ilarpalus to winne : 10 


Corin he liveth cavelesse : 




For Coriii was her onelv jove, 
Who forst her not a pinne. 


He leapes among the leaves : 
He eates the frutes of thy redresse : 




How often would she flowers twine? 


Thou 'reapst', he takes the sheaves. 


60 


Mow often garlandes make 
Of oouslips end of colombinel 15 
And al for Corin's sake. 


My beastes, a whyle your foode refraine, 
And harke your herdmans sounde; 




Whom spitefull love, alas ! hath slaine, 




But Corin, he had haukes to lure, 


Through-girt with many a wounde. 




And forced more the Geld : 

Of lovers lawe he toke no cure ; 

Pot once he was hegilde. 20 


happy be ye, beastes wilde, 
That here your pasture takes : 

1 se that ye be not begilde 


65 


llarpeloi prevailed DOUght, 


Of these your faithfull makes. 




1 1 i - labour ill was lo^l ; 

l be a as Eardesl from ber thought, 

1 I lier most. 


The hart he feedeth by the hinde : 

The bucke harde by the do : 
The turtle dove is not unkinde 




70 


Therefore vraxl he both pale and leane, 25 


To him that loves her so. 




1 drye as olot of els? i 
l ii i leahe it p m oonsumed cleans • 


The ewe she hath by her the ramme ; 

The young cow hath the bull : 
The calt'e with manv a lusty lambe 




ii. i : . 


75 


I i be kid i f had not long be thai e : 


Do fede their hunger full. 




1 onJcempI : 30 
■ 
w boa spiteful] lore b 


But) wel-awav! that nature wrought 




The, Fhylida, so faire : 
For I may say that I have bought 








Thy beauty all to deare. 


8<: , 




• i . - pablkhed Ii 


n.i. U, ewe The CorrectionB are from Ed. 1574. 




- 







ROBIN AND MAKYNE. 



107 



What reason is that crueltie 

With beautie should have part ? 

Or els that such great tyranny- 
Should dwell in womans hart? 

I see therefore to shape my death 

She cruelly is prest ; 
To tli' ende that I may want my breath 

My dayes been at the best. 

O Cupide, graunt this my request, 
And do not stoppe thine eares, 

That she may feele within her brest 
The paines of my dispaires : 



85 



90 



Of Corin ' who' is carelesse, 
That she may crave her fee : 

As I have done in great distresse, 
That loved her faithfully. 

But since that I shal die her slave ; 

Her slave, and eke her thrall : 
Write you, my frendes, upon my grave 

This chaunce that is befall. 

" Here lieth unhappy Harpalus 

By cruell love now slaine : 
Whom Phylida unjustly thus 

Hath murdred with disdaine." 



95 



100 



XIII. 
ROBIN AND MAKYNE. 



AN ANCIENT SCOTTISH PASTORAL. 



The palm of pastoral poesy is here contested by a 
contemporary writer with the author of the foregoing. 
The critics will judge of their respective merits ; but 
must make some allowance for the preceding ballad, 
which is given simply, as it stands in the old 
editions : whereas this, which follows, has been re- 
vised and amended throughout by Allan Ramsay, from 
whose " Ever-Green," Vol. I. it is here chiefly 
printed. The curious Reader may however com- 
pare it with the more original copy, printed among 
" Ancient Scottish Poems, from the MS. of George 
Bannatyne, 1568, Edinb. 1770, 12mo." Mr. Robert 
Henryson (to whom we are indebted for this Poem) 
appears to so much advantage among the writers of 
eclogue, that we are sorry we can give little other 
account of him besides what is contained in the fol- 
lowing eloge, written by W. Dunbar, a Scottish 
poet, who lived about the middle of the 16th 
century : 

" In Dumferling, he [Death] hath tane Broun, 
With gude Mr. Robert Henryson." 

Indeed some little further insight into the history 
of this Scottish bard is gained from the title pre- 
fixed to some of his poems preserved in the British 
Museum ; viz. " The morall Fabillis of Esop com- 
pylit be Maister Robert Henrisoun, Scolmaister of 
Dumfermling, 1571." Harleian MSS. 3865. §. 1. 

In Ramsay's " Ever-Green," Vol. I. whence the 
above distich is extracted, are preserved two other 
little Doric pieces by Henryson ; the one intitled 
" The Lyon and the Mouse ;" the other " The 
Garment of Gude Ladyis." Some other of his Poems 
may be seen in the " Ancient Scottish Poems 
printed from Bannatyne's MS." above referred to. 

Robin sat on the gude grene hill, 

Keipand a flock of fie, 
Quhen mirry Makyne said him till, 

" O Robin rew on me : 
I haif thee luivt baith loud and still, 5 

Thir towmonds twa or thre ; 
My dule in dern bot gitf thou dill, 

Doubtless but dreid 111 die." 



Robin replied, Now by the rude, 
Naithing of luve I knaw, 

But keip my sheip undir yon wod 
Lo quhair they raik on raw. 



10 



Quhat can have mart thee in thy mude, 

Thou Makyne to me schaw ; 
Or quhat is luve, or to be lude ? 15 

Fain wald I leir that law. 



" The law of luve gin thou wald leir, 

Tak thair an A, B, C ; 
Be heynd, courtas, and fair of feir, 

Wyse, hardy, kind and fne, 20 

Sae that nae danger do the deir, 

Quhat dule in dern thou drie : 
Press ay to pleis and blyth appeir, 

Be patient and privie." 



Robin, he answert her againe, 25 

I wat not quhat is luve ; 
But I haif marvel in certaine 

Quhat makes thee thus wanrufe. 
The wedder is fair, and I am fain j 

My sheep gais hail abuve ; SO 

And sould we pley us on the plain, 

They wald us baith repruve. 

" Robin, tak tent unto my tale, 

And wirk all as I reid ; 
And thou sail, haif my heart all hale, 35 

Eik and my maiden-heid : 
Sen God, he sendis bute for bale, 

And for murning remeid, 
I'dern with thee bot gif I dale, 

Doubtless I am but deid." 40 



Makyne, to-morn be this ilk tyde, 

Gif ye will meit me heir, 
Maybe my sheip may gang besyde, 

Quhyle we have liggd full neir ; 
But maugre haif I, gif I byde, 45 

Frae thay begin to steir, 
Quhat lyes on heart I will nocht hyd, 

Then Makyne mak gude cheir. 



Ver. 19, Bannatyne's MS. reads as above, heynd, not 
keynd, as in the Edinb. edit. 1770. V. 21, So that no dan 
ger. Bannatyne's MS. 






GKN I IT. HERDSMAN. 



" Robin, ti i d niwt me of my real ; 

I lure i»..t thee alana." 
Makyne, idieej ' the mil goes west, 

lav is nrir-hand gaiie. 

" Robin, iii duk I am so dreet, 

That hive will be mv hane." 

Blykyn, gee In v«- quhaur-eir )e list, 
For Leman 1 luid nane« 

" Robin, I stand m sic a stylo, 

I neb end that full eair. 
Makyne, 1 bare bene bare this quyle ; 

\- bame 1 e i^h 1 were* 

i. my hinny, talk and smyle, 

( Hf thou will do nae mair." 
Mekyne, eom other man beguyle, 
Fur hameward 1 will fare. 

Byne Robin on his ways he went, 

I - light as lfil* on tree ; 
Bnt Makyne morot and made lament, 

Beho trow'd bim neir to see. 
Robin he brayd attowre the bent: 

Then Makyne cried on hie, 
" Now may thou sing, for I am shent ! 

Quhat ailis luve at me ?" 

Hakyne went hame withonten fail, 
And weirylie could wetp ; 

'linn Robin in a full fair dale 
Aaaemblit all his aheip. 

Be that some part of Makvne's ail, 
Out-throw his heart could creip ; 

Jlir fast he follow t to assail, 
And till her tuke gude keip. 

Abyd, abyd, thou fair Makyne, 

A word for onv thing ; 
For all my luve, it sail be thyne, 

Withonten departing. 
All hale thy heart for till have myne, 

Is all my coveting ; 
My sheip to morn quhyle houris nyue, 

Will need of nae keiping. 



50 



55 



CO 



65 



?(i 



BO 



B5 



" Robin, thou hast heard sung and say, 

In geets anil storys auld, 90 

The man that will not when he may, 

Sail have nocht when he wald. 
I pray to heaven baith nicht and day, 

Be eiked their cares sae cauld, 
That presses first with thee to play 95 

Be forrest, firth, or fauld." 

Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry, 

The wether warm and fair, 
And the grene wod richt neir-hand by, 

To walk attowre all where : 3 00 

There may nae janglers us espy, 

That is in luve contrair ; 
Therin, Makyne, baith you and I 

Unseen may mak repair. 

" Robin, that warld is now away, 105 

And quyt brocht till an end : 
And nevir again thereto, perfay, 

Sail it be as thou wend ; 
For of my pain thou made but play ; 

I words in vain did spend : 110 

As thou hast done, sae sail I say, 

Murn on, I think to mend." 

Makyne, the hope of all my heil, 

My heart on thee is set ; 
I'll evermair to thee be leil, 115 

Quhyle I may live but lett, 
Never to fail as uthers feill, 

Quhat grace so eir I get. 
Robin, with thee I will not deill ; 

Adieu, for this we met." 120 

Makyne went hameward blyth enough, 

Outowre the holtis hair ; 
Pure Robin murnd, and Makyne leugh ; 

Scho sang, and he sicht sair : 
And so left him bayth wo and wreuch, 123 

In dolor and in care, 
Keipand his herd under a heuch, 

Amang the rushy gair. 



XIV. 



GENTLE HERDSMAN, TELL TO ME. 



M \HK.l I I'.l iwi I \ A 1'IIX.lllM AND 11KHDSMAN. 



'I be BCene of this beautiful old ballad is laid near 
u li.on, iii Norfolk, where was ancientlv an 

of the \ irgin Mary, famous over all Europe 

for the nnmeroue pUgrimagea made to it, and the 

ricbee it p o ea ee se d. Braamna haa given a very 

ind humorooj description of the superstitions 

"1 there in bi i tune. (See his ace. .nut of the 

. in his colloquy, intitled, 

■ ■." Hfe tells us, the 
1 " "h oneria [ t and precious stones, 

that wars mere shewn bun, were incredible, there 

■ in England, bul 

t other paid ■ ^ iait, or ien1 s pre- 

h.-iit to •• Our Lady of WahungbsmV' At the disso- 



DalUd .hi .i. i ..iint ul iii. .iiinii.il 
fN rUrambciUud. 



lution of the monasteries in 1538, this splendid 
bnage, with another from Ipswich, was carried to 
Chelsea, and there burnt in the presence of commis- 
sioners ; who, we trust, did not burn the jewels and 
the finery. 

This poem is printed from a copy in the editor's 
folio MS. which had greatly suffered by the hand of 
tune ; but vestiges of several of the lines remaining, 
some conjectural supplements have been attempted, 
which, for greater exactness, are in this one ballad 
distinguished by italics. 



Yer. DO, Bannatyne'i MS. haa wotd, not woud, as in Ed. 

it;o. v. ii7. Bannatyne'i MS. reads as above it-ill, no 
i.nii, aa in EJ. 1770. 



GENTLE HERDSMAN. 



109 



10 



Gentle heardsman, tell to me, 

Of curtesy I thee pray, 
Unto the towne of Walsingham 

Which is the right and ready way. 

" Unto the towne of Walsingham 

The way is hard for to be gon ; 
And verry crooked are those pathes 

For you to find out all alone." 

Weere the miles doubled thrise, 

And the way never soe ill, 
Itt were not enough for mine offence , 

Itt is soe grievous and soe ill. 

" Thy yeeares are young, thy face is faire, 

Thy witts are weake, thy thoughts are greene ; 

Time hath not given thee leave, as yett, 13 

For to committ so great a shine." 

Yes, heardsman, yes, soe woldest thou say, 

If thou knewest soe much as I ; 
My witts, and thoughts, and all the rest, 

Have well deserved for to dye. 

I am not what I seeme to bee, 

My clothes and sexe doe differ farr . 

I am a woman, woe is me ! 

Born to greeffe and irksome care. 

For my beloved, and well-beloved, 

My wayward cruelty could kill : 
And 'though my teares will nought avail, 

Most dearely I bewail him still. t 

He was the flower of noble wights, 

None ever more sincere colde bee ; 
Of comely mien and shape hee was, 

And tenderlye hee loved mee. 

When thus I saw he loved me well, 

I grewe so proud his paine to see, 
That I, who did not know myselfe, 

Thought scorne of such a youth as hee. 

*And grew soe coy and nice to please, 

As women's lookes are often soe, 
He might not kisse, nor hand forsooth, 

Unlesse I willed him soe to doe. 



20 



25 



30 



35 



40 



* Three of the following stanzas have been finely para- 
phrased by Dr. Goldsmith, in his charming ballad of 
" Edwin and Emma ;" the reader of taste will have a plea- 
sure in comparing them with the original. 

'And' still I try'd each fickle art, 

Importunate and vain; 
And while his passion touch'd my heart, 

I triumph'd in his pain. 

'Till quite dejected with my scorn 

He left me to my pride ; 
And sought a solitude forlorn, 

In secret, where he dy'd. 



45 



50 



55 



Thus being wearyed with delayes 

To see 1 pittyed not his greerfe, 
He gott him to a secrett place, 

And there he dyed without releeffe. 

And for his sake these weeds I weare, 

And sacrifice my tender age ; 
And every day He begg my bread, 

To undergo this pilgrimage. 

Thus every day I fast and pray, 

And ever will doe till I dye ; 
And gett me to some secrett place, 

For soe did hee, and soe will I. 

Now, gentle heardsman, aske no more, 
But keepe my secretts I thee pray : 

Unto the towne of Walsingham 

Show me the right and readye way. 

" Now goe thy wayes, and God before i 

For he must ever guide thee still : 
Turne downe that dale, the right hand pa^h, 

And soe, faire pilgrim, fare thee well 1" 

*** To show what constant tribute was paid to 
" Our Lady of Walsingham/' I shall give a few ex- 
tracts from the " Houshold-Book of Henry Algernon 
Percy, 5th Earl of Northumberland." Printed 1770, 
8vo. 

Sect. XLIII. page 337, &c. 

Item, My Lorde usith yerly to send afor Michaelmas 
for his Lordschip's Offerynge to our Lady of 
VValsyngeham. — iiij d. 

Item, My Lorde usith ande accustumyth to sende 
yerely for the upholdynge of the Light of Wax 
which his Lordschip fynditli birnynge yerly befor 
our Lady of Walsyngham, contenynge ij lb. of 
Wax in it after vij d. ob. for the fyndynge of every 
lb. redy wrought by a covenaunt maid with the 
Channon by great, for the hole yere, for the fynd- 
inge of the said Lyght byrnning. — vi s. viiij d. 

Item, My Lord usith and accustomith to syende 
yerely to the Channon that kepith the Light before 
our Lady of Walsyngham, for his reward for the 
hole yere, for kepynge of the said Light, lightynge 
of it at all service tymes dayly thorowt the yere, — 
xij d. 

Item, My Lord usith and accustomyth yerely to 
send to the Prest that kepith the Light, lyghtynge 
of it at all service tymes daily thorowt the yere,— 
iij s. iiij d. 



But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, 
And well my life shall pay ; 

I'll seek the solitude he sought, 
And stretch me where he lay. 

And there forlorn despairing Lifi, 
I'll lay me down and die : 

'Twas so for me that Edwin did, 
And so for him will I. 



II* 



KING EDWARD IV. AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH. 



XV. 
Kl «3 EDWARD IV. AND THE TANNER OF TAMWOUTH. 



*-. at fame among our ancestors. 

- itlior of the " Art of English Poesm/ 1 1589, 

• i ^j..-;ik of it ;is a real fact. — Describing 

that rknotu mode of speech, which the Greeks 

OeDed AcYSOlf, i. e. " When we use ■ dark and 

1, utterly repugnant to that we should 

0X0*008;" he adds, "SUCO manner of uncouth 

h did the Tenner of Tamworth use to king 
ird the Fourth ; which Tanner, having a great 
ulnle mistaken him, and used very broad talke with 
him, at length p e rc ei v in g by his traine that it was 
the king, was afraide he should be punished for it, 
[and] said thus, with a certain rude repentance, 

" I hope I shall be hanged to-morrow, 
"for [Ifeareme] I shall be hanged; whereat the 
k i n «_r laughed a good*, not only to see the Tanner's 
vaine feare, but also to heare his illshapen terme : 
and cave him for recompence of his good sport, the 
inheritance of Plumpton-parke. 'I am afraid,'" con- 
cludes this sagacious writer, " ' the poets of our 
rimo a thai Bpeake more finely and correctedly, will 
come too short of such a reward."' p. 214! — The 
phrase here referred to, is not found in this ballad 
at present t, hut occurs with some variation in ano- 
ther old poem, intitled " John the Reeve," described 
in the following volume, (see the Preface to " the 
King and the Miller,") viz. ■ 

" Nay, sayd John, bv Gods qrace, 
And Edward wer in this place, 

Hee shold not touch this tonne : 
li' wold be wroth with John I hope, 
Thereftbre I beshrew the soupe. 

1 hat in his mouth shold come." Pt. 2. st. 24. 

The following text is selected (with such other 

corrections ;is occurred) from two copies in black 

. The one in the Bodlevan library, intitled, 

' /. merrie, pleasant, and delectable bistorie be- 
arard the Fourth, and a Tanner of 
Tamworth, ice. printed at London, by John Danter. 



Ill copy, ancient as it now is, appears to 



bare been modernised and altered at the time it was 

published; and many fOOtigea of the more ancient 

readings arere recovered from another copy, (though 
rooendv printed.) in one sheet folio, without 

: the Pepys collection. 

Bui the •• arc both rery inferior in point of anti- 

"• ''"• old Ballad of "The King and the 

printed with other •• Pieces of Ancient 

Tom Authentic Manuscripts, and 

Printed Copies, >\c Lond. i?>>i, Bvd. Aa that 

• I id dotoi ooourred to the Editor 

EUliques,tin bees* it in the above collection. 

curious Reader to it, u an imper- 

■ 1 incorrect oopv of the old original Ballad. 

' 'T time, \\ lien le;i\ , , ,. ||( . ( 

•III-, I.e. |e,k.- the tree, 

rerd irolda i bunting ryde, 



V ■ Q 

,v " •' I .1 below. 



With hawke and hounde he made inm bowne, 5 

With home, and eke with bowe ; 
To Drayton Basset he tooke his waye, 

\Vith all his lordes a rowe. 

And he had ridden ore dale and downe 

By eight of clocke in the day, 10 

When he was ware of a bold tanner, 
Come ryding along the waye. 

A fayre russet coat the tanner had on 

Fast buttoned under bis chin, 
And under him a good cow-hide, 15 

And a mare of four shilling*. 

Nowe stand you still, mv good lordes all, 

Under the grene wood sprave; 
And I will wend to yonder fellowe, 

To weet what he will save. 2') 

God speede, God speede thee, said our king. 

Thou art welcome, sir, sayd hee. 
" The readyest wave to Drayton Basset 

1 praye thee to shewe to mee." 

" To Drayton Basset woldst thou goe, 25 

Fro the place where thou dost stand ? 

The next payre of gallowes thou comest unto, 
Turne in upon thy right hand." 

That is an unreadye wave, sayd our king, 

Thou doest but jest I see ; 30 

Nowe shewe me out the nearest waye, 
And I pray the wend with mee. 

Awaye with a vengeaunce ! quoth the tanner: 

I hold thee out of thy witt : 
All daye have I rydden on Brocke my mare, 35 

And I am fasting yetU 

" Go with me downe to Drayton Basset, 

No daynties we will spare ; 
All daye shalt thou eate and drinke of the best, 

And I will paye thy fare." 40 

Gramercye for nothing, the tanner replyde, 

Thou payest no fare of mine : 
I trowe I've more nobles in my purse, 

Than thou hast pence in thine. 

God give thee joy of them, savd the king, 45 

And send them well to priefe. 
The tanner wolde faine have beene away, 

For be weende he had beene a thiefe. 



• In the reign ..f Edward TV. Dame Cocili, lady of Tor- 
l>"k.-, in her will, dated March 7, A.I), i486, among many 
other bequests, has iliis, « Also I will thai mj sonne Thomas 
<>i rorboke have Iftt. W. to buy him an horse." Vid. Har- 
leian Catalog. 8176. '27.— Now if i:\s.\d. would purchase a 
M.ci in for a person of quality, a tanner's horse mipht rea- 
■00 ibij be valued ..i foui ->, nv «j shillings. 



KING EDWARD IV. AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH. 



111 



What art thou, hee sayde, thou fine fellowe, 
Of thee I am in great feare, 50 

For the cloathes, thou wearest upon thy backe, 
Might beseeme a lord to weare. 

I never stole them, quoth our king, 

I tell you, sir, by the roode. 
" Then thou playest, as many an unthrift doth, 55 

And standest in midds of thy goode*." 

What tydinges heare you, sayd the kynge, 

As you ryde farre and neare ? 
" I heare no tydinges, sir, by the masse, 

But that cowe-hides are deare." 60 

" Cowe-hides ! cowe-hides ! what things are those? 

I marvell what they bee?" 
What art thou a foole ? the tanner reply'd ; 

I carry one under mee. 

What craftsman art thou, said the king, 65 

I praye thee tell me trowe. 
" I am a barkerf, sir, by my trade ; 

Nowe tell me what art thou ?" 

I am a poore courtier, sir, quoth he, 

That am forth of service worne ; 70 

And faine I wolde thy prentise bee, 

Thy cunninge for to learne. 

Marrye heaven forfend, the tanner replyde, 

That thou my prentise were : 
Thou woldst spend more good than I shold winne 

By fortye shilling a yere. 76 

Yet one thing wolde I, sayd our king, 

If thou wilt not seeme strange : 
Thoughe my horse be better than thy mare, 

Yet with thee I faine wold change. 80 

" Why if with me thou faine wilt change, 

As change full well maye wee, 
By the faith of my bodye, thou proude fellowe, 

I will have some boot of thee." 

That were against reason, sayd the king, 

I sweare, so mote I thee : 
My horse is better than thy mare, 

And that thou well mayst see. 

" Yea, sir, but Brocke is gentle and mild, 

And softly she will fare : 
Thy horse is unrulye and wild, I wiss j 

Aye skipping here and theare." 

What boote wilt thou have ? our king reply'd ; 

Now tell me in this stound. 
" Noe pence, nor half pence, by my faye, 

But a noble in gold so round." 



85 



90 



95 



" Here's twentye groates of white moneye, 

Sith thou will have it of mee." 
I would have sworne now, quoth the tanner, 

Thou hadst not had one pennie. 100 

But since we two have made a change, 

A change we must abide, 
Although thou hast gotten Brocke my mare, 

Thou gettest not my cow-hide. 

* i. e. has no other wealth, but what thou carriest about 
thee. 
t i. e. a dealer in Bark. 



I will not have it, sayd the kynge, 105 

I sweare, so mought I thee ; 
Thy foule co we -hide I wolde not beare, 

If thou woldst give it to mee. 

The tanner hee tooke his good cowe-hide, 

That of the cow was hilt ; 110 

And threwe it upon the king's sadelle, 
That was soe fayrelye gilte. 

" Now help me up, thou fine fellowe, 

' Tis time that I were gone : 
When I come home to Gyllian my wife, 1 15 

Sheel say I am a gentilmon." 

The king he tooke him up by the legge ; 

The tanner a f * * lett fall. 
Nowe marrye, good fellowe, sayd the kyng, 

Thy courtesye is but small. 1 20 

When the tanner he was in the kinges sadelle, 

And his foote in his stirrup was ; 
He marvelled greatlye in his minde, 

Whether it were golde or brass. 

But when his steede saw the cows taile wagge, 125 

And eke the blacke cowe-horne ; 
He stamped, and stared, and awaye he ranne, 

As the devill had him borne. 

The tanner he pulld, the tanner he sweat, 

And held by the pummil fast: 130 

At length the tanner came tumbling downe; 
His necke he had well-nye brast. 

Take thy horse again with a vengeance, he sayd, 

With mee he shall not byde. 
" My horse wolde have borne thee well enoughe, 135 

But he knewe not of thy cowe-hide. 

" Yet if agayne thou faine woldst change, 

As change full well may wee, 
By the faith of my bodye, thou jolly tanner, 

I will have some boote of thee." 140 

What boote wilt thou have, the tanner replyd, 

Nowe tell me in this stounde? 
"Noe pence nor halfpence, sir, by my faye, 

But I will have twentye pound." 

"Here's twentye groates out of my purse ; 145 

And twentye I have of thine : 
And I have one more, which we will spend 

Together at the wine." 

The king set a bugle home to his mouthe, 

And blewe both loude and shrille : 150 

And soone came lords, and soone came knights, 
Fast ryding over the hille. 

Nowe, out alas ! the tanner he cryde, 

That ever I sawe this daye ! 
Thou art a strong thiefe, yon come thy fellowes 

Will beare my cowe-hide away. 156 

They are no thieves, the king replyde, 

I sweare, soe mote I thee : 
But they are the lords of the north countrey, 

Here come to hunt with mee. 160 



112 



AS YE CAME FROM THE HOLY LAND 



And Boone before our king they came, 
And knelt downe on the grounds : 

fhen night the tanner have beene awaye, 
And had leva then twentye pounde. 

A coller, a coller, here : sayd the king, 

A coller lie loud pan crye : 
Then woulde he lever then twentye pound, 

He had not beene so nighe. 

A coller, a coller, the tanner he sayd, 
1 trowe it will breed sorrowe : 

After a coller commeth a halter, 

I trow 1 shall be hansr'd to-morrowe. 



165 



170 



Be not afraid tanner, said our king ; 

1 tell thee, so mought I thee, 
Lo here I make thee the best esquire 175 

That is in the North countrie*. 

For Plumpton-parke I will give thee, 

With tenements faire beside : 
'Tis worth three hundred markes by the yeare, 

To maintaine thy good cowe-bide. IOC 

Gramercye, my liege, the tanner replyde, 
For the favour thou hast me showne ; 

If ever thou come^t to merry Tamworth, 
Neates leather shall clout thy shoen. 



XVI. 



AS YE CAME FROM THE HOLY LAND. 



DIALOGUE BITvVELN A PILGRIM AND TRAVELLER. 



The scene of this song is the same as in Num. 
XIV. The pilgrimage to Walsingham suggested 
the plan of many popular pieces. In the Pepys col- 
lection, vol. I. p. 226, is a kind of interlude in the 
old ballad style, of which the first stanza alone is 
worth reprinting. 

As I went to Walsingham, 
To the shrine with speede, 

Met I with a jolly palmer 
In a pilgrimes weede. 

Now God you save, you jolly palmer ! 
" Welcome, lady gay, 

Oft have I sued to thee for love." 
— Oft have I said you nay. 
The pilgrimages undertaken on pretence of religion, 
were often productive of affairs of gallantry, and led 
the votaries to no other shrine than that of Venus*. 

The following ballad was once very popular ; it is 
quoted in Fletcher's " Knight of the burning pestle," 
Act II. sc. ult. and in another old play, called, " Hans 
Be«r-pot, his invisible Comedy, &c." 4to. 1618 : 
Act I. The copy below was communicated to the 
Editor by the late Mr. Shenstone as corrected by 
him from an ancient copy, and supplied with a con- 
cluding stanza. 

We have placed this, and " Gentle Herdsman," 
&c. thus early in the works, upon a presumption 
that they must have been written, if not before the 
dissolution of the monasteries, yet while the remem- 
brance of them was fresh in the minds of the 
people. 

As ye came from the holy land 
Of blessed W-.dsingham, 

O met you not with my true love 
As by the way ye came ? 

" How should I know your true love, 5 

Thai hare met many a one, 
As I came from the holy land, 

Thai have both come, and gone?" 



• Even In the time of Langland, pilgrimages to Waking- 
bam were not unfavourable to the rites, of Venus. Thus in 
i i- \ isioni of Pierce Plowman, i<>. i. 

" Hermeti on aheape, with hoked steves ( 
Wenten to Walsingham, and beri wenchei liter." 
t i. C their. 



My love is neither wliite*, nor browne, 

But as the heavens faire; 1C 

There is none hath her form divine, 
Either in earth, or ayre. 

" Such an one did I meet, good sir, 

With an angelicke face ; 
Who like a nymphe, a queene appeard 15 

Both in her gait, her grace." 

Yes : she hath cleane forsaken me, 

And left me all alone ; 
Who some time loved me as her life, 

And called me her owne. 20 

" What is the cause she leaves thee thus, 

And a new way doth take, 
That some times loved thee as her life, 

And thee her joy did make?" 

I that loved her all my youth, 25 

Growe old now as you see ; 
Love liketh not the falling fruite, 

Nor yet the withered tree. 

For love is like a carelesse childe, 

Forgetting promise past : 30 

He is blind, or deaf, whenere he list ; 

His faith is never fast. 

His fond desire is fickle found, 

And yieldes a trustlesse joye ; 
Wonne with a world of toil and care, 35 

And lost ev'n with a toye. 

• This stanza is restored from a quotation of this Ballad 
in Seidell's "Titles of Honour," who produces it as a good 
authority to prove, that one mode of creating E>i|iiircs at 
thai time, was 1>n the Imposition Of a collar. His words 
are, " Nor is that old pamphlet Of the tanner of Tamworth 
and King Edward the Fourth so contemptible, but that wee 
may thence note also an observable passage, wherein the 
Die oi making K.-ipiires, by giving collars, is expressed." 
(Sub Tit. Esquire; ..v vide in Spelmanoi Giossar. Armiger.) 
This form of creating Esquires actually exists at this day 
among tbe Sergeants al Arms, who are inverted with a 
collar (which tliey wear on Collar Days) by the King 
himself. 

This information I owe to Samuel Pt'Rge, Esq. to whom 

the Public is Indebted for that curious work, the '* Cur ialia,' 
4to. t sc. pale. 



HARDYKNUTE. 



tiS 



Such is the love of womanfcinde, 
Or Loves faire name abusde, 

Beneathe which many vaine desires, 
And follyes are excusde. 



40 



' But true love is a lasting fire, 
Which viewless vestals * tend, 

That burnes for ever in the soule, 
And knowes nor change, nor end. 



XVII. 



HARDYKNUTE. 



A SCOTTISH FBAGMENT. 



As this fine morsel of heroic poetry hath generally 
past for ancient, it is here thrown to the end of our 
earliest pieces ; that such as doubt of its age, may 
the better compare it with other pieces of genuine 
antiquity. For after all, there is more than reason 
to suspect, that it owes most of its beauties (if not 
its whole existence) to the pen of a lady, within the 
present century. The following particulars may be 
depended on. Mrs. Wardlaw, whose maiden name 
was Halket (aunt to the late Sir Peter Halket, of 
Pitferran, in Scotland, who was killed in America, 
along with General Bradock, in 1755), pretended 
she had found this poem, written on shreds of paper, 
employed for what is called the bottoms of clues. 
A suspicion arose that it was her own composition. 
Some able judges asserted it to be modern. The 
lady did in a manner acknowledge it to be so. 
Being desired to shew an additional stanza, as a 
proof of this, she produced the two last, beginning 
with " There's nae light," &c. which were not in the 
copy that was first printed. The late Lord President 
Forbes, and Sir Gilbert Elliot, of Miuto (late Lord 
Justice Clerk for Scotland) who had believed it 
ancient, contributed to the expence of publishing the 
first Edition, in folio, 1719. This account was trans- 
mitted from Scotland by Sir David Dalrymple, the 
late Lord Hailes, who yet was of opinion, that part 
of the ballad may be ancient ; but retouched and 
much enlarged by the lady above mentioned. In- 
deed he had been informed, that the late William 
Thompson, the Scottish musician, who published the 
" Orpheus Caledonius," 1733, 2 vols. 8vo. declared 
he had heard Fragments of it repeated in his infancy, 
before Mrs. Wardlaw's copy was heard of. 

The Poem is here printed from the original 
Edition, as it was prepared for the press with the 
additional improvements. (See below, page 116.) 



Stately stept he east the wa', 

And stately stept he west, 
Full seventy years he now had seen, 

Wi' scarce seven years of rest. 
He liv'd when Britons breach of faith 

Wrought Scotland mickle wae : 
And ay his sword tauld to their cost, 

He was their deadlye fae. 



High on a hill his castle stood, 

With ha's and tow'rs a height 
And goodly chambers fair to se, 

Where he lodged mony a knight. 
His dame sae peerless anes and fair, 

For chast and beauty deem'd 
Nae marrow had in all the land, 

Save Elenor the queen. 



10 



15 



Full thirteen sons to him she bare, 

All men of valour stout : 
In bloody fight with sword in hand 

Nine lost their lives bot doubt : 
Four yet remain, lang may they live 

To stand by liege and land ; 
High was their fame, high was their might, 

And hig-h was their command. 



Great love they bare to Fairly fair 25 

Their sister saft and dear, 
Her girdle shaw'd her middle gimp, 

And gowden glist her hair. 
What waefu' wae her beauty bred 1 

Waefu' to young and auld, 30 

Waefu' I trow to kyth and kin, 

As story ever tauld. 

v. 

The King of Norse in summer tyde, 
PufFd up with pow'r and might, 

Landed in fair Scotland the isle Si 

With mony a hardy knight. 

The tydings to our good Scots king- 
Came, as he sat at dine, 

With noble chiefs in brave aray, 

Drinking: the blood-red wine. 40 



" To horse, to horse, my royal liege, 

Your faes stand on the strand, 
Full twenty thousand glittering spears 

The King of Norse commands." 
Bring me my steed Mage dapple gray, 45 

Our good king rose and cry'd, 
A trustier beast in a' the land 

A Scots king nevir try'd. 



Go little page, tell Hardyknute, 

That lives on hill sae hie, SO 

To draw his sword, the dread of faes, 

And haste and follow me. 
The little page flew swift as dart 

Flung by his master's arm, 
" Come, down, come down, lord Hardyknute, 55 

And rid your king frae harm." 



Then red red grew his dark brown cheeks, 
Sae did his dark-brown brow ; 

His looks grew keen as they were wont 
In dangers great to do ; 



60 



sc. Angels. 



114 



II \RI>Yk\i ! E. 



'en a horn as green as . 

Ami gi'en five sounds see will, 

That trees in Kroon wood shook thereat, 
Bae loud rant: ilka hill. 



His sons in manlv sport and glee, 65 

Had past that summer's morn, 
"When low down in a grassy dale, 

They heard their father's horn. 
That horn, quo' thev, ne'er sounds in peace, 

We've other sport to hide. 70 

And soon thev hv'd them up the hill, 

And soon were at his side. 



'•' Late late the yestreen I ween'd in peace 

To end my lengthened life, 
My age might well excuse mv arm To 

Frae manly feats of strife, 
But now that Norse do's proudly boast 

Fair Scotland to inthrall, 
It's ne'er be said of Hardvknute, 

He fear'd to fisrht or fall. 80 



" Robin of Rothsay, bend thy bow, 

Thy arrows shoot sae leel, 
That mony a comely countenance 

They've turned to deadly pale. 
Brade Thomas take you but your lance, 85 

You need nae weapons mair, 
If vou fight wi't as you did anes 

'Gainst Westmoreland's fierce heir 



" And Malcolm, light of foot as stag 

That runs in forest wild, 90 

Get me my thousands three of men 

"Well bred to sword and shield : 
Bring me my horse and harnisine, 

My blade of mettal clear. 
If faes but ken'd the hand it bare, 95 

They soon had fled for fear. 



" Farewell my dame sae peerless good, 

(And took her by the hand), 
Fairer to me in age you seem, 

Than maids for beauty fam'd 100 

My youngest son shall here remain 

To guard these stately towers, 
And shut the silver bolt that keeps 

Sae fast your painted bowers." 



And first she wet her comely cheiks, 105 

And then her boddice green, 
Her silken cords of tairtle twist, 

Well plett with sil.er sheen ; 
And Bpron set with mony a dice 

Of needle-wark sae rare, 110 

Wove by nae hand, as \e may £0688, 

Save that of Fairly fair. 



And he has ridden o'er muir and moss, 

O'er hills ami moiiy a glen, 
"\\ hen he came to a wounded knight 115 

Making a heavy mane ; 



" Here maun I lye, here maun I dye, 

By treacherie's false guiles ; 
Witless I was that e'er ga faith 

To wicked woman's smiles." 120 



" Sir knight, gin you were in my bower, 

To lean on silken seat, 
My lady's kindly care vou'd prove, 

Who ne'er knew deadlv hate 
Herself wou'd watch you a' the day, tfS 

Her maids a dead of night ; 
And Fairly fair your heart wou'd chear, 

As she stands in your sight. 

xvn. 

" Arise young knight, and mount your stead 

Full lowns the shynand day : 1 '3^ 

Choose frae my menzie whom ye please 

To lead you on the way." 
With smileless look, and visage wan 

The wounded knight reply 'd, 
" Kind chieftain, your intent pursue, i.So 

For here I maun abyde. 



To me nae after day nor night 

Can e're be sweet or fair, 
But soon beneath some draping tree, 

Cauld death shall end my care." 140 

With him nae pleading might prevail ; 

Brave Hardyknute to gain 
W T ith fairest words, and reason strong, 

Strave courteously in vain. 



Syne he has gane far hynd out o'er 145 

Lord Chattan's land sae wide ; 
That lord a worthy wight was ay 

When faes his courage sey'd ; 
Of Pictish race by mother's side, 

When Picts rul'd Caledon, 150 

Lord Chattan claim'd the princely maid, 

When he sav'd Pictish crown. 



Now with his fierce and stalwart train, 

He reach'd a rising bight, 
Quhair braid encampit on the dale, 155 

Norss menzie lay in sicht. 
" Yonder my valiant sons and feirs 

Our raging revers wait 
On the unconquert Scottish sward 

To try with us their fate. 160 



Make orisons to him that sav'd 

Our sauls upon the rude ; 
Syne bravely shaw your veins arc lill'd 

With Caledonian blmlo." 
Then forth he drew his trustv glave, 165 

While thousands all around 
Drawn frae their sheaths glanc'd in the sun ; 

And loud the bougies sound. 

XXII. 

To joyn his king adoun the hill 

In hast his merch be made, 170 

While, playand pabrochs, minstraHs meit 
Afore him statelv strade. 



HARDYKNUTE. 



115 



" Thrice welcome valiant stoup of weir, 
Thy nations shield and pride ; 

Thy king nae reason has to fear 
When thou art hy his side." 



175 



When hows were bent and darts were thrawn ; 

For thrang scarce cou'd they flee ; 
The darts clove arrows as they met, 

The arrows dart the tree. 180 

Lang did they rage and fight fu' fierce, 

With little skaith to mon, 
But bloody bloody was the field, 

Ere that lang day was done. 



The King of Scots, that sindle brook'd 185 

The war that look'd like play, 
Drew his braid sword, and brake his bow, 

Sin bows seem'd but delay. 
Quoth noble Rothsay, " Mine I'll keep, 

I wat it's bled a score. 190 

Haste up my merry men, cry'd the king 

As he rode on before. 



The King of Norse he sought to find, 

With him to mense the faught, 
But on his forehead there did light 195 

A sharp unsonsie shaft : 
As he his hand put up to feel 

The wound, an arrow keen, 
O waefu' chance ! there pinn'd his hand 

In midst between his een. 200 



" Revenge, revenge, cry'd Rothsay's heir, 

Your mail-coat sha' na bide 
The strength and sharpness of my dart : " 

Then sent it through his side. 
Another arrow well he mark'd, 205 

It pierc'd his neck in twa, 
His hands then quat the silver reins, 

He low as earth did fa'. 



" Sair bleids my liege, sair, sair he bleeds !" 

Again wi' might he drew 210 

And gesture dread his sturdy bow, 

Fast the braid arrow flew : 
Wae to the knight he ettled at ; 

Lament now Queen Elgreed ; 
High dames too wail your darling's fall, 215 

His youth and comely meed. 



" Take aff, take affhis costly jupe 

(Of gold well was it twin'd, 
Knit like the fowler's net, through quhilk, 

His steelly harness shin'd) 220 

Take, Norse, that gift frae me, and bid 

Him venge the blood it bears ; 
Say, if he face my bended bow, 

He sure nae weapon fears." 



Proud Norse with giant body tall, 225 

Braid shoulders and arms strong, 
Cry'd, " Where is Hardyknute sae fam'd 

And fear'd at Britain's throne : 



Tho' Britons tremble at his name 

I soon shall make him wail, 230 

That e'er my sword was made sae sharp, 

Sae saft his coat of mail." 



That brag his stout heart cou'd na bide, 

It lent him youthfu' micht : 
" I'm Hardyknute ; this day, he cry'd, 235 

To Scotland's king I heght 
To lay thee low, as horses hoof; 

My word I mean to keep." 
Syne with the first stroke e'er he strake, 

He garr'd his body bleed. 240 



Norss' een like gray gosehawk's sta ir'd wyid, 

He sigh'd wi' shame and spite ; 
" Disgrac'd is now my far-fam'd arm 

That left thee power to strike :" 
Then ga' his head a blow sae fell, 245 

It made him doun to stoup, 
As laigh as he to ladies us'd 

In courtly guise to lout. 

xx xir. 

Fu' soon he rais'd his bent body, 

His bow he marvell'd sair, 250 

Sin blows till then on him but darr'd 

As touch of Fairly fair : 
Norse marvell'd too as sair as he 

To see his stately look ; 
Sae soon as e'er he strake a fae. 255 

Sae soon his life he took. 



Where like a fire to heather set 

Bauld Thomas did advance, 
Ane sturdy fae with look enrag'd 

Up toward him did prance ; 260 

He spurr'd his steid through thickest ranks 

The hardy youth to quell, 
Wha stood unmov'd at his approach 

His fury to repell. 



" That short brown shaft sae meanly trimm'd,265 

Looks like poor Scotlands gear, 
But dreadfull seems the rusty point !" 

And loud he leugh in j ear. 
" Oft Britons bood has dimm'd its shine ; 

This point cut short their vaunt :" 270 

Syne pierc'd the boasters bearded cheek ; 

Nae time he took to taunt. 

xxxv. 

Short while he in his saddle swang, 

His stirrup was nae stay, 
Sae feeble hang his unbent knee 275 

Sure taiken he was fey : 
Swith on the harden't clay he fell, 

Right far was heard the thud : 
But Thomas look't nae as he lay 

All waltering in his blud : 280 



With careless gesture, mind unmov't, 
On roade he north the plain ; 

His seem in throng of fiercest strife, 
When winner ay the same : 

i 2 



1 16 



II \k!>Yk\l IT.: 



\ • \.t his heart dames dimple! cheek 285 

( 'ould mease soft lei e to bruik, 
Till vengefu' Ann return'd his scorn, 

Then languid new his lnik. 
axxvu. 
In thraws of death, with vralowit cheik. 

All panting on the plain, 290 

The fainting corps ofwarrionrs lay, 

\ e're to arise again : 

Ne're to return to native land, 

N mair with blithsome .sounds 
To boast the glories of the day, 295 

And shaw their shining wounds. 
xxxvnr. 
On Norways coast tlie widowit dame 

May wash the rocks with tears, 
May lang luik ow'r the shipless seas 

Before her mate appears. 300 

Cease, Emma, cease to hope in vain ; 

Thy lord lyes in the clay ; 
The valiant Scots nae re vers thole 

To carry life away. 

XXXIX. 

Here on a lee, where stands a cross 305 

Set up for monument, 
Thousands fu' fierce that summer's day 

Fill'd keen war's black intent. 
Let Scots, while Scots, praise Hardyknute, 

Let Norse the name ay dread, 819 

Ay how he fought, aft how he spar'd 

Shall latest ages read. 

XL. 

Now loud and chill blew th' westlin wind, 

Sair beat the heavy shower, 
Mirk grew the night ere Hardyknute 315 

Wan near his stately tower. 
His tow'r that us'd wi' torches blaze 

To shine sae far at night, 
Seem'd now as black as mourning weed, 

Nae marvel sair he sigh'd. 320 

XLI. 

" There's nae light in my lady's bower, 
There's nae light in my ha'; 

Nae blink shines round my Fairly fair, 
\ or ward stands on my wa' 

" \\ hat bodes it > Robert, Thomas, say ;" — 325 

Nae answer fitts their dread. 
"Stand hack, niv sons, j'le be your guide?" 
But by they past with speed. 

XLII. 

"As fast I've sped owre Scotlands faes," — 
There ceas'd bis brag of weir, 330 

Sail- rtham'd tO mind ought but his dame, 

A ml maiden Fairly fair. 
Flack fear be felt, bu1 what tO fear 

lie «ht nae yet ; wi' dread 
Sair shook his body, sair his limbs, 335 

And a' the warrior lied. 



* # * In an elegant publication 
Tragic Ballads, printed by and fi 



ntitled, " Scottish 

J. Nichols, L781, 
fivo," limy be seen a continuation of the Ballad of 
Hardyknute, by the addition of a "Second Part," 
which hath since been acknowledged to be his own 

composition, by the ingenious Editor — To u hoin the 



late Sir D. Dalrymple communicated (subsequent to 
the account drawn up above in p. 113.) extracts of 
a letter from Sir John Bruce, of Kinross, to Lord 
Binning, which plainly proves the pretended dis- 
coverer of the fragment of Hardvknute to have been 
Sir John Bruce himself. His words are, " To per- 
form my promise, I send vou a true copv of the 
"Manuscript I found some weeks ago in a vault at 
Dumferline. It is written on vellum in a fair Gothic 
character, but so much defaced bv time, as vou'll 
find that the tenth part is not legible." He then 
gives tlie whole fragment as it was first published in 
1719, save one or two stanzas, marking several pas- 
sages as having perished by being illegible in the 
old MS. Hence it appears that Sir John was the 
author of Hardvknute, but afterwards used Mrs. 
Wardlaw to be the midwife of his Poetrv, ami sup- 
pressed the story of the vault ; as is well observed 
by the Editor of the Tragic Ballads, and of Maitland's 
Scot. Poets, vol. I. p. cxxvii. 

To this gentleman we are indebted for the use of 
the copy, whence the second edition was afterwards 
printed, as the same was prepared for the press by 
John Clerk, M.D. of Edinburgh, an intimate com- 
panion of Lord President Forbes. 

The title of the first edition was, " Hardvknute, a 
Fragment. Edinburgh, printed for James Watson, 
&c."l719." folio, 12 pages. 

Stanzas not in the first edition are, Nos. 17, 18, 
20, 21, 22, 23, 34, 35, 36, 37, 41, 42. 

In the present impression the orthography of Dr. 
Clerk's copy has been preserved, and his readings 
carefully followed, except in a few instances, 
wherein the common edition appeared preferable : 
viz. He had in ver. 20. but. — v. 56. of harm. — v. 64. 
every. — v. 67. lo down. — v. 83. That omitted. — v. 89. 
And omitted. — v. 143. With argument but vainly 
strove Lang. — v. 148. say'd. — v. 155. incampH on the 
plain. — v. 156. Norse squadrons. — v. 158. regnnd ro- 
vers. — v. 170. his strides he bent. — v. 171. minstrak 
play and Pibrochsfoie. — v. 172. stately went. — v. 182. 
mon. — v. 196. sharp and fatal. — v. 219. which. — v. 
241. stood uiild. — Stanza 39 preceded stanza 38. — 
v. 30 5. There. — v. 313, blew wrestling. — v. 336. had 
originally been, He feard a' cou'd be fear'd. 

The editor was also informed, on the authority of 
Dr. David Clerk, M.D. of Edinburgh (son of' the 
aforesaid Dr. John Clerk,) that between the present 
Stanzas 36 and 37, the two following had been in- 
tended, but were on maturer consideration omitted, 
and do not now appear among the .MS. additions : 

Now darts flew wavering through slaw speede, 

Scarce could they reach their aim ; 
Or reach'd, scarce blood the round point drew, 

'Twas all but shot in vain : 
Righ strengthv arms forfeebled grew, 

Sair wreck's wi' that day's toils : 
E'en fierce-born minds now lang'd for peace, 

And our'd war's cruel broils. 

Vet stilll wars horns sounded to charge, 
Swords olash'd and harness rang; 

But sai'tlv sae ilk blaster blew 

The hills and dales fraeniang. 
Nae echo heard in douhle dints, 
Nor the tang-winding horn, 

Nae maix she blew out brade as she 

Did eir that summers morn. 



mi imkif noon Tin- must. 



A BALLAD OF LUTHER, THE POPE, A CARDINAL, AND A HUSBANDMAN. 



SERIES THE SECOND. 
BOOK [I. 



A BALLAD OF LUTHER, THE POPE, A CARDINAL, AND A HUSBANDMAN. 



In the former Book we brought down this second 
Series of poems as low as about the middle of the 
sixteenth century. We now find the Muses deeply 
engaged in religious controversy. The sudden re- 
volution wrought in the opinions of mankind by the 
Reformation, is one of the most striking events in 
the history of the human mind. It could not but 
engross the attention of every individual in that age, 
and therefore no other writings would have any 
chance to be read, but such as related to this grand 
topic. The alterations made in the established reli- 
gion bv Henry VIII., the sudden changes it under- 
went in the three succeeding reigns within so short 
a space as eleven or twelve years, and the violent 
struggles between expiring Popery and growing 
Protestantism, could not but interest all mankind. 
Accordingly every pen was engaged in the dispute. 
The followers of the Old and New Profession (as 
they were called) had their respective ballad-makers ; 
and every day produced some popular sonnet for or 
against the Reformation. The following ballad, and 
that intitled " Little John Nobody," may serve for 
specimens of the writings of each party. Both were 
written in the reign of Edward VI. ; and are not the 
worst that were composed upon the occasion. Con- 
troversial divinity is no friend to poetic flights. Yet 
this ballad of " Luther and the Pope," is not altoge- 
ther devoid of spirit ; it is of the dramatic kind, and 
the characters are tolerably well sustained ; espe- 
cially that of Luther, which is made to speak in a 
manner not unbecoming the spirit and courage of 
that vigorous reformer; It is printed from the ori- 
ginal black-letter copy (in the Pepys collection, 
vol. I. folio,) to which is prefixed a large wooden 
cut, designed and executed by some eminent master. 

We are not to wonder that the ballad-writers of 
that age should be inspired with the zeal of contro- 
versy, when the very stage teemed with polemic 
divinity. I have now before me two very ancient 
jq-iarto black-letter plays : the one published in the 
time of Henry VIII, intitled " Every Man ;"the other 
called " Lusty Juventus," printed in the reign of 
Edward VI. In the former of these, occasion is 
taken to incultate great reverence for old mother 
church and her superstitions* : in the other, the 

• Take a specimen from his high encomiums on the 
priesthood, 

" There is no emperour, kyng, duke, ne baron 
That of God hath commission, 
As hath the leest preest in the world beynge. 



poet, (one R. Wever) with great success attacks 
both. So that the stage in those days literally was, 
what wise men have always wished it — a supple- 
ment to the pulpit : — this was so much the case, that 
in the play of " Lusty Juventus," chapter and verse 
are every where quoted as formally as in a sermon j 
take an instance : 

• The Lord by his prophet Ezechiel sayeth in this 

wise playnlye, 
As in the xxxiij chapter it doth appere : 
Be converted, O ye children, &c." 

From this play we learn that most of the young 
people were New Gospellers, or friends to the Re- 
formation, and that the old were tenacious of the 
doctrines imbibed in their youth : for thus the devil 
is introduced lamenting the downfal of superstition : 

" The olde people would believe stil in my lawes, 
But the yonger sort leade them a contrary way, 
They wyl not beleve, they playnly say, 
In olde traditions, and made by men, &c." 

And in another place Hypocrisy urges, 

" The worlde was never meri 

Since chyldren were so boulde: 

Now every boy will be a teacher, 

The father a foole, the chyld a preacher." 

Of the plays above mentioned, to the first is sub- 
joined the following, Printer's Colophon, ^f " Thus 
endeth this moral playe of Every Man. % Im- 
prynted at London in Powles chyrche yarde by me 
John Skot." In Mr. Garrick's collection is an 
imperfect copy of the same play, printed by Richarde 
Pynson. 

The other is intitled, " An enterlude called Lufty 
Juventus :" and is thus distinguished at the end : 

God hath to them more power gyven, 
Than to any aungell, that is in heven ; 
With v. words he may consecrate 
Goddes body in flesshe, and blode to take, 
And handeleth his maker bytwene his hand's. 
The preest byndeth and unbindeth all bandes, 
Both in erthe and in heven. — 
Thou ministers all the sacramentes seven. 
Though we kyst thy fete thou were worthy ; 
Thou art the surgyan that cureth synne dedly : 
No remedy may we fynde under God, 
But alone on preesthode. 

God gave preest that dignite - , 

And letteth them in his stede amonge us be, 

Thus be they above aungels in degre." 

See Hawkins's Orig. of £ng. Drama Vol. I. p. <S1. 



18 A BALLAD OF LUTHER, THE POPE, A CARDINAL, AND A HUSBANDMAN. 



• Finis, quod EC Wever. Imprynted at London in 
Paulas churcheyeard by Abraham Dele at the signe 

of the Lambe." Of this too .Mr. Garrick lias an 
imperfect copy of a different edition. 

Ot' these two plays the reader may find some fur- 
ther particulars in Series the First, Book II. see 
" The Essay on the Origin of the English Stage;" 
ami the curious reader will find the plays themselves 
printed at large in Hawkins's " Origin of the English 
Drama," 3 vols. Oxford, 1773, l'Jmo. 

Tin: HUSBANDMAN. 
Let us lift up our hartes all, 

And prayse the Lordes magnificence, 
Which hath given the wolues a fall, 

And is become our strong defence : 

For they thorowe a false pretens 5 

From Christes bloude dyd all us leade*, 

Gettynge from every man his pence, 
As satisfactours for the deade. 

For what we with our Flayles coulde get 

To kepe our house, and survauntes ; 10 

That did the Freers from us fet, 

And with our soules played the merchauntes : 
And thus they with theyr false warrantes 

Of our sweate have easelye lyved, 

That for fatnesse theyr belyes pantes, 15 

So greatlye have they us deceaued. 



They spared not the fatherlesse, • 
The carefull, nor the pore wydowe ; 

They wolde have somewhat more or lesse, 
If it above the ground did growe : 
But now we husbandmen do knowe 

A! their subteltye, and theyr false caste ; 
For the Lorde hath them overthrowe 

With his swete word now at the laste. 



2:) 



25 



30 



Doctor Martin Luther. 

Thou antichrist, with thy thre crownes, 

lias usurped kynges powers, 
As having power over realmes and townes, 

Whom thou oughtest to serve all houres 

Thou thinkest by thy jugglyng colours 
Thou maist lykewise Gods word oppresse ; 

As do the deceatful foulers, 
When they theyr nettes craftelye dresse. 



Thou flatterest every prince, and lord, 

Thretenmg poore men with swearde and fyre ; 

All those, th-it do follovve Gods worde, 35 

To make them cleve to thy desire, 
Theyr bokes thou buruest in llaming fire ; 

Cursing with boke, bell, and candeH, 
Sue!) as to reade them have desyre, 

Or with them are wyilynge to meddell. 40 

'1 by false power wyl 1 bryng down, 

'I boo. shalt not raygne many a yere, 
1 shall drvve the from eitye and towne, 

Even with thin pen thai thou seyste here : 



j . denied u the Cup, sec below, ver. Mi 



Thou fyghtest with swerd shvlde, and speare 45 
Bat I wyll fyght with (Jods worde; 

Which is now so open and cleave, 
That it shall brynge the under the borde *. 

The Pope. 

Though I brought never so many to bel, 

And to utter dampnacion, 50 

Throughe myne ensample, and consel, 
Or thorow any abhominacion, 
Yet doth our lawe excuse my fashion. 

And thou, Luther, arte accursed ; 

For blamynge me, and my condicion, 55 

The holy decres have the coudempned. 

Thou stryvest against my purgatory, 

Because thou findest it not in scripture; 

As though 1 by myne auctorite 

Myght not make one for myne honoure. bO 

Knowest thou not, that 1 have power 

To make, and mar, in heaven and hell, 
In ertb, and every creature ? 

Whatsoever I do it must be well. 

As for scripture, I am above it ; 65 

Am not I Gods hye vicare ? 
Shulde I be bounde to followe it, 

As the carpenter his ruler t ? 

Nay, nay, hereticks ye are, 
That will not obey my auctoritie. 7 

With this sworde I wyll declare, 
That ye shal al accursed be. 

The Cardinal. 

a am a Cardinall of Rome, 

Sent from Christes hye vicary, 
To graunt pardon to more, and sume, 75 

That wil Luther resist strongly : 

Fie is a greate hereticke treuly, 
And regardeth to much the scripture ; 

For he thinketh onely thereby 
To subdue the popes high honoure : 80 

Receive ye this pardon devoutely, 
And loke that ye agaynst him fight ; 

Plucke up your herts, and be manlye, 
For the pope sayth ye do but ryght : 
And this be sure, that at one flyghte, 85 

Allthough ve be overcome by chaunce, 

Ye shall to heaven go with greate myghte; 

God can make you no resistaunce. 

But these heretikes for their medlynge 

Shall go down to hel every one ; 90 

For they have not the popes blessynge, 

Nor regard his holy pardon : 

They thinke from all destruction 
By Christes bloud to be Bayed, 

Fearynge not our excommunicaoion, 95 

Therefore shall they al he dumpned. 

• i. e. Blake thee knock under the table. 
t i. e. lila rule, 



LITTLE JOHN NOBODY. 



119 



II. 
JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. 

A SCOTTISH SONG. 



While in England verse was made the vehicle of 
controversy, and Popery was attacked in it by 
logical argument, or stinging satire; we may be 
sure the zeal of the Scottish Reformers would not 
suffer their pens to be idle, but many a pasquil was 
discharged at the Romish priests, and their enormous 
encroachments on property. Of this kind perhaps 
is the following, (preserved in Maitland's MS 
Collection of Scottish poems in the Pepysian 
library :) 

" Tak a Wobster, that is leill, 
And a Miller, that will not steill, 
With ane Priest, that is not gredy, 
And lay ane deid corpse thame by, 
And, throw virtue of thame three, 
That deid corpse sail qwyknit be." 

Thus far all was fair : but the furious hatred^ of 
Popery led them to employ their rhymes in a stdl 
more licentious manner. It is a received tradition 
in Scotland, that at the time of the Reformation, 
ridiculous and obscene songs were composed to be 
sung by the rabble to the tunes of the most favourite 
hymns in the Latin service. Green sleeves and pud- 
ding pies (designed to ridicule the popish clergy) 
is said to have been one of these metamorphosed 
hymns : Maggy Lauder was another : John Ander- 
son my jo was a third. The original music of all 
these burlesque sonnets was very fine. To give a 
specimen of their manner, we have inserted one of 
the least offensive. The Reader will pardon the 
meanness of the composition for the sake of the 



anecdote, which strongly marks the spirit of the 
times. 

In the present Edition this song is much im- 
proved by some new readings communicated by a 
friend ; who thinks by the " Seven Bairns," in st. 
2d. are meant the Seven Sacraments ; five of which 
were the spurious offspring of Mother Church : as 
the first stanza contains a satirical allusion to the 
luxury of the popish clergy. > 

The adaptation of solemn church music to these 
ludicrous pieces, and the jumble of ideas, thereby 
occasioned, will account for the following fact. — 
From the Records of the General Assembly in 
Scotland, called, " The Book of the Universal Kirk," 
p. 90, 7th July, 1 568, it appears, that Thomas Bas- 
sendyne, printer in Edinburgh, printed " a psalme 
buik, in the end whereof was found printit ane 
baudy sang, called ' Welcome Fortunes *'." 



John Anderson my jo, cum in as ze gae bye, 
And ze sail get a sheips heid weel baken in a pje ; 
Weel baken in a pye, and the haggis in a pat ; 
John Anderson my jo, cum in, and ze's get that. 

MAN. 

And how doe ze, Cummer ? and how hae ze threven 1 
And how mony bairns hae ze 1 Wom. Cummer, I hae 

seven. 
Man. Are they to zour awin gude man ? Wom. Na, 

Cummer, na ; 
For five of tham were gotten, quhan he was awa'. 



III. 
LITTLE JOHN NOBODY. 



We have here a witty libel on the Reformation 
under King Edward VI. written about the year 
1550, and preserved in the Pepys collection, British 
Museum, and Strype's Memoirs of Cranmer. The 
author artfully declines entering into the merits of 
the cause, and wholly reflects on the lives and 
actions of many of the reformed. It is so easy to 
find flaws and imperfections in the conduct of men, 
even the best of them, and still easier to make gene- 
ral exclamations about the profligacy of the present 
times, that no great point is gained by arguments of 
that sort, unless the author could have proved that 
the principles of the reformed religion had a natural 
tendency to produce a corruption of manners ; 
whereas he indirectly owns, that their Reverend 
Father [Archbishop Cranmer] had used the most 
proper means to stem the torrent, by giving the people 
access to the Scriptures, by teaching them to pray 
with understanding, and by publishing homilies, 
and other religious tracts. It must however be 



acknowledged, that our libeller had at that time 
sufficient room for just satire. For under the ban- 
ners of the reformed had enlisted themselves, many 
concealed papists, who had private ends to gratify ; 
many that were of no religion ; many greedy 
courtiers, who thirsted after the possessions of the 
church; and many dissolute persons, who wanted 
to be exempt from all ecclesiastical censures : and 
as these men were loudest of all others in their 
cries for Reformation, so in effect none obstructed 
the regular progress of it so much, or by their 
vicious lives brought vexation and shame more on 
the truly venerable and pious Reformers. 

The reader will remark the fondness of our satirist 
for alliteration : in this he was guilty of no affecta- 
tion or singularity ; his versification is that of 
Pierce Plowman's Visions, in which a recurrence of 
similar letters is essential : to this he has only. 

* See also Biograph. Briani. 1st. edit. vol. i p. 177. 



l'.'O 



QUEEN ELIZABETH'S VERSES. 



superadded rhyme, which in his time began to be 
the general practice. Bee an Beany on thia very 

peculiar kind of metre, prefixed to Book 111. in tins 
Series. 

■ruber, when the daves draw to be short. 
After november, when the nights wax noysome and 

long; 
As I past bv a place privily at a port, 
] saw one sit by himself making a song : 
His last* talk of trifles, who told with his tongue 
Thai few were fast i' th' faith. I ' freyned t that 

freake, [wrong. 

Whether he wanted wit, or some had done him 

He said, he was little John Nobody, that durst not 

speake. 

John Nobody, quoth I, what news 1 thou soon note 

and tell 
What maner men thou meane, thou are so mad. 
He said, These gay gallants, that wil construe the 

gospel, 
As Solomon the sage, with semblance full sad ; 
To discusse divinity they nought adread ; 
More meet it were for them to milk kye at a fleyke. 
Thou lyest, quoth I, thou losel, like a leud lad. 
He said he was little John Nobody, that durst not 

speake. 

Its meet for every man on this matter to talk, 
And the glorious gospel ghostly to have in mind ; 
It is sothe said, that sect but much unseemly skalk, 
As boyes babble in books, that in scripture are blind : 
Yet to their fancy soon a cause will find ; 
As to live in lust, in lechery to leyke : 
Such caitives count to be come of Cains kind:}: ; 
But that I little John Nobody durst not speake. 

For our reverend father hath set forth an order, 
Our service to be said in our seignours tongue ; 
As Solomon the sage set forth the scripture ; 
Our suffrages, and services, with many a sweet song, 
With homilies, and godly books us among, 
I bet no stiff, stubborn stomacks we should freyke : 
But wretches nere worse to do poor men wrong ; 
But that I little John Nobody dare not speake. 



For bribery was never so great, since born was our 

Lord, [rowed hel, 

And whoredom was never les hated, sith Christ har- 
And poor men are so sore punished commonly 

through the world, [tel. 

That it would grieve any one, that good is, to hear 
For al the homilies and good books, yet their hearts 

be so quel, [wreake ; 

That if a man do amisse, with mischiefe they wil him 
The fashion of these new fellows it is so vile and 

fell: 
But that I little John Nobody dare not speake. 

Thus to live after their lust, that life would they 
And in lechery to leyke al their long life ; [have, 
For al the preaching of Paul, yet many a proud 
knave [wife 

Wil move mischiefe in their mind both to maid and 
To bring them in advoutry or else they wil strife, 
And in brawling about baudery, Gods command- 
ments breake : [thrife ; 
But of these frantic il fellowes, few of them do 
Though 1 little John Nobody dare not speake. 

If thou company with them, they wil currishly carp, 

and not care [naught : 

According to their foolish fantacy ; but fast wil they 
Prayer with them is but prating ; therefore they it 

forbear : [thought : 

Both almes deeds, and holiness, they hate it in their 
Therefore pray we to that prince, that with his bloud 

us bought, [freyke 

That he wil mend that is amiss : for many a manful 
Is sorry for these sects, though they say little or 

nought ; [speake. 

And that I little John Nobody dare not once 

Thus in no place, this Nobody, in no time I met, 
Where no man, ' ne*' nought was, nor nothing did 

appear ; 
Through the sound of a synagogue for sorrow I swett, 
That • Aeolus t' through the eccho did cause me to 

hear. 
Then I drew me down into a dale, whereas the 

dumb deer [freyke : 

Did shiver for a shower ; but I shunted from a 

For I would no wight in this world wist who I were, 

But little John Nobody, that dare not once speake. 



IV. 
QUEEN ELIZABETH'S VERSES, WHILE PRISONER AT WOODSTOCK, 

WRIT WITH CIIAHCOAI, ON A SHUTTER, 



— are preserved by Hentzner, in that part of his 

Travels, which has been reprinted in so elegant a 
manner at Strawberry-hill. In Hentzner's book 

they were wretchedly corrupted, hut arc here given 
as amended by his ingenious Editor. The old 
Orthography*, and one or two ancient readings of 
I leiit/.ner's copy are here restored. 

On, Fortune I how thy reatlease wavering state 
Hath fraaghl with cares my troubled win ! 

• Perhapi He left talk. I feigned MSB. and P.O. 

J Cain's kind.] So in PicKC the Plowman*! creed, the 

proud niara ere Mid to be, 

.< o» Cayraei kind." Vid. Big. C. >j- b. 



Witnes this present prisonn, whither fete 

Could beare me, and the joys I quit. 
Thou causedest the guiltie to be losed 
From bandes, wherein are innocents inclosed : 

Causing the go ltles to be straite reaerved, 

And treeing those that death hath well deserved. 

Bui by her envie can be nothing wroughte, 
So God send to my foes all they have thoughte. 
A.I). MIH.V. Elizabethe, Pkisonner. 



\ ci i, Could beare, i* an 
Did bear or Hath borne. 

Creen, ver. , r >7, Could say. 
• then, MSS. and PC. 



ancient idiom, equivalent to 
lee below the Beggar Bednal 

i Hercules, MS. and PC. 



THE HEIR OF LINNE. 



t.«t 



V. 



THE HEIR OF LINNE. 



The original of this Ballad is found in the Editor's 
folio MS. the breaches and defects in which, rendered 
the insertion of supplemental stanzas necessary. 
These it is hoped the Reader will pardon, as indeed 
the completion of the story was suggested by a 
modern ballad on a similar subject. 

From the Scottish phrases here and there dis- 
cernible in this poem, it would seem to have been 
originally composed beyond the Tweed. 

The Heir of Linne appears not to have been a 
Lord of Parliament, but a Laird, whose title went 
along with his estate. 

PART THE FIRST. 

Lithe and listen, gentlemen, 

To sing a song I will beginne : 
It is of a lord of faire Scotland, 

Which was the unthrifty heire of Linne 

His father was a right good lord, 5 

His mother a lady of high degree ; 
But they, alas ! were dead, him froe, 

And he lov'd keeping companie. 

To spend the daye with merry cheare, 

To drinke and revell every night, 10 

To card and dice from eve to morne, 
It was, I ween, his hearts delighte. 

To ride, to rujme, to rant, to roare, 

To alwaye spend and never spare, 
I wott, an' it were the king himselfe, 15 

Of gold and fee he mote be bare. 

Soe fares the unthrifty Lord of Linne 
Till all his gold is gone and spent ; 

And he maun sell his landes so broad, 

His house, and landes, and all his rent. 20 

His father had a keen stewarde, 

And John o' the Scales was called hee : 

But John is become a gentel-man, 
And John has gott both gold and fee. 

Sayes, Welcome, welcome, Lord of Linne, 25 
Let nought disturb thy merry cheere ; 

Iff thou wilt sell thy landes soe broad, 
Good store of gold He give thee heere 

My gold is gone, my money is spent , 

My lande nowe take it unto thee : 30 

Give me the golde, good John o' the Scales, 
And thine for aye my lande shall bee. 

Then John he did him to record draw, 
And John he cast him a gods-pennie* ; 

But for every pounde that John agreed, 35 

The lande, I wis, was well worth three. 

• i. e. earnest-money ; from the French ' Denier a Dieu.' 
At this day, when application is made to the Dean and 
Chapter of Carlisle to accept an exchange of the tenant 
under one of their leases, a piece of silver is presented by 
the new tenant, which is still called a God's penny. 



He told him the gold upon the borde. 

He was right glad his land to winne; 
The gold is thine, the land is mine, 

And now He be the Lord of Linne. 40 

Thus he hath sold his land soe broad, 
Both hill and holt, and moore and fenne, 

All but a poore and lonesome lodge, 
That stood far off in a lonely glenne. 

For soe he to his father bight. 45 

My sonne, when I am gonne, sayd hee, 

Then thou wilt spend thy lande so broad, 
And thou wilt spend thy gold so free : 

But sweare me nowe upon the roode, 

That lonesome lodge thou'lt never spend ; 50 
For when all the world doth frown on thee, 

Thou there shalt find a faithful friend. 



55 



60 



The heire of Linne is full of golde : 

And come with me, my friends, sayd hee, 

Let's drinke, and rant, and merry make, 
And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee. 

They ranted, drank, and merry made, 
Till all his gold it waxed thinne ; 

And then his friendes they slunk away ; 
They left the unthrifty heire of Linne. 

He had never a penny left in his purse; 

Never a penny left but three, 
And one was brass, another was lead, 

And another it was white money. 

Nowe well-aday, sayd the heire of Linne, 
Nowe well-adaye, and woe is mee, 

For when I was the Lord of Linne, 
I never wanted gold nor fee. 

But many a trustye friend have I, 
And why shold I feel dole or care ? 

He borrow of them all by turnes, 
Soe need I not be never bare. 



But one, I wis, was not at home ; 

Another had payd his gold away ; 
Another call'd him thriftless loone, ? 5 

And bade him sharpely wend his way. 

Now well-aday, sayd the heire of Linne, 

Now well-aday, and woe is me ; 
For when I had my landes so broad, 

On me they liv'd right merrilee. 80 

To beg my bread from door to do*?.. 

1 wis, it were a brenning shama 
To rob and steal it were a sw.ne : 

To worke my limbs I cannot fraw*- 



Ver. 63, 4, 5, &c. Sic MS. 






THE HEIR OF LINNE. 



Now Ili> away to lonesome lodge, 
For there my father bade me trend : 

When all the world ahould frown on mee 
1 there ahold find a trusty friend. 

PART THE SECOND. 

Away then lived the heire of Linne 

Oer hill and holt, and moor and fenne, 

Intill he came to lonesome lodge, 

That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne. 

He looked up, he looked downe, 

In hope some comfort for to winne : 

But hare and lothlv were the walles. 

Here's sorry cheare, quo' the heire of Linne. 

The little windowe dim and darke 

Was hung 1 with ivy, brere, and yewe ; 

No shimmering sunn here ever shone ; 
No halesome breeze here ever blew. 

No chair, ne table he mote spye, 

No chearful hearth, ne welcome bed, 

Nought save a rope with renning noose, 
That dangling hung up o'er his head. 



85 



10 



15 



And over it in broad letters, 

These words were written so plain to see : 
" Ah ! gracelesse wretch, hast spent thine all 

And brought thyselfe to penurie ? 20 

" All this my boding mind misgave, 

I therefore left this trusty friend : 
Let it now sheeld thy foule disgrace, 

And all thy shame and sorrows end. ' 

Sorely shent wi' this rebuke, 2J 

Sorely shent was the heire of Linne ; 

His heart, I wis, was near to brast 

With guilt and sorrowe, shame and sinne. 

Never a word spake the heire of Linue, 

\ 6\ <-r a word he spake but three : 30 

" This is a trusty friend indeed, 
And is right welcome unto mee." 

Then round his necke the corde he drewe, 

And sprang aloft with his bodie : 
When lo! the ceiling burst in twaine, 35 

And to the ground come tumbling hee. 

Astonyed lay the heire of Linne, 

Ns knewe if he were live or dead : 
At length he looked, and sane a Lille, 

And in it a key of gold so redd. 40 

Hi- took the hill, and lookt it on, 

Strait good comfort found lie there: 
Lt told linn of ;t hole in the wall, 

In winch there stood three chests in-fe 
Two were full of the beaten golde, 45 

I be third was full of white inonrv ; 

And over them in broad letters 

'liie..- Virordfl w< re written BO plains tO see: 
• iii t < i ■ , I i log< tl»T. 



" Once more, my sonne, I sette thee clere; 

Amend thy life and follies past ; 50 

For hut thou amend thee of thy life, 

That rope must be thy end at last." 

And let it bee, sayd the heire of Linne; 

And let it bee, but if I amend*' 
For here I will make mine avow, 55 

This reade t shall guide me to the end. 

Away then went with a merry cheare, 
Away then went the heire of Linne ; 

I wis, he neither ceas'd ne blanne, 

Till John o' the Scales house he did winne. 60 

And when he came to John o' the Scales, 
l.'pp at the speere $ then looked hee ; 

There sate three lords upon a rowe, 
Were drinking of the wine so free. 

And John himself sate at the bord-head, 65 

Because now lord of Linne was hee. 

I pray thee, he said, good John o' the Scales, 
One forty pence for to lend mee. 

Away, away, thou thriftless loone; 

Awav, away, this may not bee : 7 " 

For Christs curse on mv head, he sayd, 

If ever I trust thee one pennie. 

Then bespake the heire of Linne, 

To John o' the Scales wife then spake he : 

Madame, some almes on me bestowe, 75 

I pray for sweet saint Charitie. 

Away, away, thou thriftless loone, 

I swear thou gettest no almes of mee ; 

For if we shold hang any lusel heere, 
The first we wold be°in with thee. 



Then bespake a good fellowe, 

Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord 
Sayd, I urn againe, thou heire of Linne ; 

Some time thou wast a well good lord : 

Some time a good fellow thou hast been 
And sparedst not thy gold and fee j 

Therefore He lend thee forty pence 
And other forty if need bee. 

And ever, I pray thee, Johno' the Scales, 
To let him sit in thy companie : 

For well I wot thou hadst his land, 
And a good bargain it was to thee. 

Up then spake him John o' the Scales, 
All wood he answer'd him againe : 

Now Christs curse on my head, he sayd, 
But I did lose by that bargaine. 



80 



85 



yo 



95 



And here I proffer thee, heire of Linne, 
Before these lords so i'aire and free, 

1 hou shall have it hacke again better cheape, 

By a hundred markf s, than 1 had it of thee. 100 

Nil. 60, an old northern phrase. 

• i. «•. antes* I amend. + i. e. advice, counsel. 

J Perhaps the Hole in the door or window, bj which h 
u..- tptered, i- e. sparred) fastened, or ehnt.— hi Bale's 2d 
rn of the Ait> ui Bog. Votaries, we have this phrase, (fol. 
38.J " The dote therof oft tymes opened and apeared 
■gayne." 



GASCOIGXE'S PRAISE OF THE FAIR BRIDGES. 



123 i 



I drawe you to record, lords, he said. 

With that he cast him a gods pennie . 
N ow by my fay, sayd the heire of Linne, 

And here, good John, is thy money. 

And he pull'd forth three bagges of gold, 105 

And layd them down upon the bord : 

All woe begone was John o' the Scales, 
Soe shent he cold say never a word. 

He told him forth the good red gold, 

He told it forth mickle dinne. 1 10 

The gold is thine, the land is mine, 

And now Ime againe the Lord of Linne. 

Saves, Have thou here, thou good fellowe, 

Forty pence thou didst lend mee : 
N ow I am againe the Lord of Linne, 115 

And forty pounds I will give thee. 



lie make the keeper of my forrest, 
Both of the wild deere and the tame ; 

For but I reward thy bounteous heart, 

I wis, good fellowe, I were to blame. 120 

Now welladay ! sayth Joan o' the Scales ■ 
Now welladay ! and woe is my life ! 

Yesterday I was Lady of Linne, 

Now Ime but John o' the Scales his wife. 

Now fare thee well, sayd the heire of Linne ; 125 
Farewell now, John o' the Scales, said hee : 

Christs curse light on me, if ever again 
I bring my lands in jeopardy. *^* 

t+t In the present edition of this ballad several 
ancient readings are restored from the folio MS. 



VI. 

GASCOIGNE'S PRATSE OF THE FAIR BRIDGES, AFTERWARDS LADY SANDES, 

ON HER HAVING A SCAR IN HER FOREHEAD. 



George Gascoigne was a celebrated poet in the 
early part of Queen Elizabeth's reign, and appears 
to great advantage among the miscellaneous writers 
of that age. He was author of three or four plays, 
and of many smaller poems ; one of the most 
remarkable of which is a satire in blank verse, 
called the " Steele-glass," 1576, 4to. 

Gascoigne was born in Essex, educated in both 
universities, whence he removed to Gray's-inn ; but, 
disliking the study of the law, became first a dangler 
ar court, and afterwards a soldier in the wars of the 
Low Countries. He had no great success in any of 
these pursuits, as appears from a poem of his, intitled, 
" Gascoigne's Wodmanship, written to Lord Gray of 
"Wilton." Many of his epistles dedicatory are dated 
in 1575, 1576, from " his poore house in Waltham- 
stoe :" where he died a middle-aged man in 1578, 
according to Anth. Wood : or rather in 1577, if he 
is the person meant in an old tract, intitled, " A re- 
membrance of the well employed life and godly end 
of George Gascoigne, Esq. who deceased at Stam- 
ford in Lincolnshire, Oct. 7, 1577, by Geo. Whet- 
stone, Gent, an eye-witness of his godly and cha- 
ritable end in this world," 4to. no date. — [From a 
MS. of Oldys.] 

Mr. Thomas Warton thinks " Gascoigne has much 
exceeded all the poets of his age, in smoothness and 
harmony of versification*." But the truth is, scarce 
any of "the earlier poets of Queen Elizabeth's time 
are found deficient in harmony and smoothness, 
though those qualities appear so rare in the writings 
of their successors. In the " Paradise of Dainty 
Devises t," (the Dodsley's Miscellany of those 
times) will hardly be found one rough, or inharmo- 



Ver. 34, of Part I. and 102, of Part II. cast is the reading 
of the MS. 

* Observation on the Faerie Queen, Vol. II. p. 168. 

+ Printed in 1578, 1596, and perhaps oftener, in 4lo. black- 
letter. 



nious line * : whereas the numbers of Jonson 
Donne, and most of their contemporaries, frequently 
offend the ear, like the filing of a saw. — Perhaps 
this is in some measure to be accounted for from 
the growing pedantry of that age, and from the 
writers affecting to run their lines into one another 
after the manner of the Latin and Greek poets. 

The following poem (which the elegant writer 
above quoted hath recommended to notice, as pos- 
sessed of a delicacy rarely to be seen in that early 
state of our poetry), properly consists of alexandrines 
of twelve and fourteen syllables, and is printed from 
two quarto black-letter collections of Gascoigne's 
pieces ; the first intitled, " A hundreth sundrie 
flowres, bounde up in one small posie, &c. London, 
imprinted for Richarde Smith :" without date, but 
from a letter of H. W. (p. 202.) compared with the 
printer's epist. to the reader, it appears to have been 
published in 1572, or 3. The other is intitled, 
" The Posies of George Gascoigne, Esq. corrected, 
perfected, and augmented by the author, 1575. — 
Printed at London, for Richard Smith, &c." No 
year, but the epist. dedicat. is dated 1576. 

In the title page of this last (by way of printer'sf 
or bookseller's device) is an ornamental wooden cut, 
tolerably well executed, wherein Time is represented 
drawing the figure of 1 ruth out of a pit or cavern, 
with this legend, " Occulta Veritas tempore patet" 
[r. s.] This is mentioned because it is not impro- 
bable but the accidental sight of this or seme other 
title page containing the same device, suggested to 
Rubens that well-known design of a similar kind, 
which he has introduced into the Luxemburgh 
gallery |, and which has been so justly censured for 
the unnatural manner of its execution. 

• * The same is true of most of the poems in the " Mirrour 
of Magistrates," 1563, 4to, and also of " Surrey's Poems," 
1557. t Henrie Binneman. 

J Le Terns decouvre la Verite. 



I'M 



FAIR ROSAMOND. 



In court whoso deinaundes 

What dame doth most excel] ; 

Tor my conceit 1 mUSl needes say 

Fain Badges beam the hel. 

Upon whose lively cheeke, 
To prove my judgment true, 

The rose and lillie seeme to strive 
For equall change of hewe : 

And fherewithall so well 

llir greeefl all agree ; 
No frowning eheere dare once presume 

In hir sweet face to bee. 

Although some lavishe lippes, 
Which like some other best, 

Will sav, the blemishe on hir browe 
Disgraceth all the rest. 

Thereto I thus replie ; 

God wotte, they little knowe 
The hidden cause of that mishap, 

Nor how the harm did gro A T e : 

For when dame Nature first 
Had framde hir heavenly face, 

A nd thoroughly bedecked it 
With goodly gleames of grace; 

It lyked hir so well : 

Lo here, quod she, a peece 
For perfect shape, that passeth all 

Appelles' worke in Greece. 

This bayt may chaunce to catche 

The greatest God of love, 
Or mi^htie thundring Jove himself, 

That rules the roast above. 

But out, alas ! those wordes 
Were vaunted all in vayne : 

And some unseen wer present there, 
Pore Bridges, to thy pain. 



10 



15 



20 



30 



35 



For Cupide, crafty boy, 

Close in a corner stoode, 
Not blyndfold then, to gaze on hir : 

I gesse it did him good. 40 

Yet when he felte the flame 

Gan kindle in his brest, 
And herd dame Nature boast by hir 

To break him of his rest. 

His hot newe-chosen love -15 

He chaunged into hate, 
And sodeynly with mightie mace 

Gan rap hir on the pate. 

It greeved Nature muche 

To see the cruell deede : 50 

Mee seemes I see hir, how she wept 

To see hir dearling bleede. 

Wei yet, quod she, this hurt 

Shal have some helpe I trowe: 
And quick with skin she coverd it, 55 

That whiter is than snowe. 

Wherwith Dan Cupide fled, 

For feare of further flame, 
When angel-like he saw hir shine, 

Whoine he had smit with shame. 60 

Lo, thus was Bridges hurt 

In cradel of hir kind. 
The coward Cupide brake hir browe 

To wreke his wounded mynd. 

The skar still there remains ; < • ■ 

No force, there let it bee : 
There is no cloude that can eclipse 

So bri ght a tunne, as she. 

* # * The lady here celebrated was Catharine, 
daughter of Edmond second Lcrd Chandos, wife of 
William Lord Sands. See Collins's Peerage, vol. 
ii. p. 133, ed. 1779. 



VII 



FAIR ROSAMOND. 



Most of the circumstances in this popular story of 
King Henry II. and the beautiful Rosamond have 
been taken for fart hv our English Historians ; who, 
unable to account for the unnatural conduct of 
Queen Eleanor in stimulating her sons to rebellion, 
have attributed it to jealousy, and supposed that 
Henry's amour with Rosamond was the object of 
that passion. 

Our old English annalists seem, most of them, to 
have followed Higdenthe monk ©f Chester, whose 

account, with some enlargements, is thus given by 

Stow. "Rosamond the fayn daughter of Walter 

Lord Clifford, eoneubine to Henry li. (poisoned by 
Queen Elianor, as some thought) dyed at Wood- 
■tocke [A. I). ii?7.] where King Henry had made 

for her a house of woudcrfull working ; so that no 
man or woman might come to her, hut hu that, was 



instructed by the King, or such as were right secret 
with him touching the matter. This house after 
some was named Labyrinthus, or Dedalus worke, 
Which was wrought like unto a knot in a garden, 
called a Maze*; hut it was commonly said, that 
lastly the Queene came to her by a clue of thridde, 
or silke, and so dealt with her, that she lived not 
long after : hut when she was dead, she was huried 
at dodstow in an house of nunnes, beside Oxford 
w ith these verses upon her tombe : 
" Hie jacit in tumba, Rosa mundi.non Rosa munda , 
N on redolet, sed olet, qua; redolere solet 



Ver. <i'2. In cradel of hir kind: i. e. in the cradle of her 
family. Sec Walton's Observations, vol, II, p. 137. 

• Consisting Of vaults under ground, arched and walled 
with brlcV and stone, according to Drayton. See note on 

his Epistle of Rosamond*. 



FAIR ROSAMOND. 



125 



" In English thus : 

The rose of the world, but not the cleane flowre, 
Is now here graven ; to whom beauty was lent : 

In this grave full darke nowe is her bowre, 
That by her life was sweete and redolent : 
But now that she is from this life blent, 

Though she were sweete, now foully doth she stinke. 

A mirrour good for all men, that on her thinke." 

Stowe's Annals, ed. 1631, p. 154. 

How the queen gained admittance into Rosamond's 
bower is differently related. Holinshed speaks of it, 
as " the common report of the people, tha* v he queene 
.... founde hir out by a silker ^read, which the 
king had drawne after him out of hir chamber with 
his foot, and dealt with hir in such sharpe and cruell 
wise, that she lived not long after." Vol. Ill, p. 
115. On the other hand, in Speede's Hist, we are 
told that the jealous queen found her out " by a clew 
of silke, fallen from Rosamund's lappe, as shee sate 
to take ayre, and suddenly fleeing from the sight of 
the searcher, the end of her silke fastened to her 
fcot, and the clew still unwinding, remained behinde : 
ivhich the queene followed, till shee had found what 
she sought, and upon Rosamund so vented her 
spleene, as the lady lived not long after." 3d. edit, 
p. 609. Our ballad-maker with more ingenuity, and 
probably as much truth, tells us the clue was gained 
by surprise, from the knight, who was left to guard 
her bower. 

It is observable, that none of the old writers attri- 
bute Rosamond's death to poison, (Stowe, above, 
mentions it merely as a slight conjecture ;) they 
only give us to understand, that the queen treated 
her harshly; with furious menaces, wemay suppose, 
and sharp expostulations, which had such effect on 
her spirits, that she did not long survive it. Indeed 
on her tomb-stone, as we learn from a person of 
credit*, among other fine sculptures, was engraven 
the figure of a cup. This, which perhaps at first 
was an accidental ornament, (perhaps only the Cha- 
lice) might in after-times suggest the notion that she 
was poisoned ; at least this construction was put 
upon it, when the stone came to be demolished after 
the nunnery was dissolved. The account is, that 
" the tombstone of Rosamund Clifford was taken up 
at Godstow, and broken in pieces, and that upon it 
were interchangeable weavings drawn out and decked 
with roses red and green, and the picture of the 
cup, out of which she drank the poison given her 
by the queen, carved in stone.'" 

Rosamond's father having been a great benefactor 
to the nunnery of Godstow, where she had also 
resided herself in the innocent part of her life, her 
body was conveyed there, and buried in the middle 
of the choir ; in which place it remained till the year 
1191, when Hugh bishop of Lincoln caused it to be 
removed. The fact is recorded by Hovedon, a con- 
temporary writer, whose words are thus translated by 
Stowe : " Hugh bishop of Lincolne came to the abbey 

of nunnes, called Godstow, and when he had 

entred the church to pray, he saw a tombe in the 
middle of the quire, covered with a pall of silke, and 
set about with lights of waxe : and demanding whose 
tomb it was, he was answered, that it was the tombe 
of Rosamond, that was some time lemman to 



* Tho. Allen of Gloc. Hall, Oxon. who died in 1632, aged 
90. See Hearne's rambling discourse concerning Rosamond, 
at the end of Gul. Neubrig. Hist. vol. iii. p. 739. 



Henry II who for the love of her had done 

much good to that church Then quoth the bishop, 
take out of this place the harlot, and bury her with- 
out the church, lest Christian religion should grow 
in contempt, and to the end that, through the exam- 
ple of her, other women being made afraid maybe- 
ware, and keepe themselves from unlawfull and 
advouterous company with men." Annals, p. 159. 

History further informs us, that king John re- 
paired Godstow nunnery, and endowed it with 
yearly revenues, " that these holy virgins might 
releeve with their prayers, the soules of his father 
King Henrie, and of Lady Rosamund there interred*." 
.... In what situation her remains were found at 
the dissolution of the nunnery, we learn from Le- 
land, " Rosamundes tumbe at Godstowe nunnery 
was taken up [of ] late ; it is a stone with this in- 
scription, Tumba Rosamunds. Her bones were 
closid in lede, and withyn that bones were closyd yn 
lether. When it was opened a very swete smell 
came owt of it \." See Hearne's discourse above 
quoted, written in 1718; at which time he tells us, 
were still seen by the pool at Woodstock the foun- 
dations of a very large building, which were believed 
to be the remains of Rosamond's labyrinth. 

To conclude this (perhaps too prolix) account, 
Henry had two sons by Rosamond, from a compu- 
tation of whose ages, a modern historian has endea- 
voured to invalidate the received story. These were 
William Longue-espe ; (or Long-sword) earl of 
Salisbury, and Geoffrey bishop of Lincolne }. 
Geoffrey was the younger of Rosamond's sons, and 
yet is said to have been twenty years old at the time 
of his election to that see in 1173. Hence this 
writer concludes, that King Henry fell in love with 
Rosamond in 1149, when in King Stephen's reign 
he came over to be knighted by the king of Scots ; 
he also thinks it probable that Henry's commerce 
with this lady " broke off upon his marriage with 
Eleanor [in 1152] and that the young lady, by a 
natural effect of grief and resentment at the defection 
of her lover, entered on that occasion into the nun- 
nery of Godstowe, where she died probably before 
the rebellion of Henry's sons in 1173." [Carte's 
Hist. Vol. I, p. 652.] But let it be observed, that 
Henry was but sixteen years old when he came over 
to be knighted : that he staid but eight months in 
i this island, and was almost all the time with the 
King of Scots ; that he did not return back to Eng- 
land till 1153, the year after his marriage with 
Eleanor ; and that no writer drops the least hint of 
Rosamond's having ever been abroad with her lover, 
nor indeed is it probable that a boy of sixteen should 
venture to carry over a mistress to his mother's 
court. If all these circumstances are considered, 
Mr. Carte's account will be found more incoherent 
and improbable than that of the old ballad ; which is 
also countenanced by most of our old historians. 

Indeed the true date of Geoffrey's birth, and con 
sequently of Henry's commerce with Rosamond, 
seems to be best ascertained from an ancient manu- 
script in the Cotton library : wherein it is thus 
registered of Geoffrey Plantagenet, " Natus est 5° 
Henry II. [1159.] Factus est miles 25° Henry II. 

* Vid. Reign of Henry II. in Speed's History, writ by 
Dr. Barcham, Dean of Bocking. 

t This would have passed for miraculous, if it had hap- 
pened in the tomb of any clerical person, and a proof of bis 
being a saint. 

J Afterwards Archbishop of York, temp. Rich. I. 



l 16 



FAIR ROSAMOND. 



[H7«M Elect in Episcop, Lincoln, 88° Henry II, 
[i 182.]*' Vid Chnm.de Kirkstall, (DomitM» XII.) 

Drake's Hist, of York. p. 422. 

The Ballad of Fair Rosamond appears to havebeen 
first published in " Strange Histories or Son-rs and 
Sonnets, of Kinges, Princes, Dukes, Lords, Ladyes, 
Knights, ami Gentlemen. See. J5v Thomas Delone. 
Load. 1612." 4to. It is now printed (with conjec- 
tural emendations) from four ancient copies in black- 
letter ; two of them in the Pepys library. 

When as King- Henry rulde this land, 

The second of that name, 
Besides the (jueene, he dearly lovde 

A faire and comely dame. 

Most peerlesse was her beautye fouude, 5 

Her favour, and her face ; 
A sweeter creature in this worlde 

Could never prince embrace. 

Her crisped lockes like threads of golde 

Appeard to each mans sight ; 10 

Her sparkling eyes, like Orient pearles, 
Did cast a heavenly e light. 

The blood within her crystal cheekes 

Did such a colour drive, 
As though the lillye and the rose 15 

For mastership did strive. 

Yea Rosamonde, fair Rosamonde, 

Her name was called so, 
To whom our queene, dame Ellinor, 

Was known a deadlye foe. 20 

The king therefore, for her defence, 

Against the furious queene, 
At Woodstocke builded such a bower, 

The like was never seene. 

Most curiously that bower was built 25 

Of stone and timber strong, 
An hundered and fifty doors 

Did to this bower belong : 

And they so cunninglye contriv'd 

With turnings round about, 30 

That none but with a clue of thread. 

Could enter in or out. 

And for his love and ladyes sake, 

That was so faire and brighte, 
The keeping of this bower he gave 3.3 

L'nto a valiant knighte. 

But fortune, that doth often frowne 

\\ here she before did smile, 
The kinges delighte and ladyes joy 

Full soon ghee did beguile : 40 

For whv, the kinges ungracious Bonne, 

\\ bom hi' did high advance, 

Against Ins father raised wanes 
\\ ltlmi the realme of France. 

Bui % it before our comelye king 4f« 

Tlie English land forsooke, 
Of Rosamond, his lady faire, 

1 1 1 ^ farewelle thus ho tookc: 



'• My Rosamonde, my only Rose. 

That pleasest best mine eve : 
The fairest flower in all the worlae 

To feed my fantasy e: 

The flower of mine affected heart, 

Whose sweetness doth excelle 
My royal Rose, a thousand times •*>' 

I bid thee nowe farwelle ! 

For I must leave my fairest flower, 

My sweetest Rose, a space, 
And cross the seas to famous France, 

Proud rebelles to abase. < 

But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt 

My coming shortlye see, 
And in my heart, when hence I am, 

He beare my Rose with mee." 

When Rosamond, that ladye brighte. 06 

Did heare the king saye soe, 
The sorrowe of her grieved heart 

Her outward lookes did showe ; 

And from her cleare and crystall eves 

The teares gusht out apace, 70 

Which like the silver-pearled dewe 
Ranne down her comely face. 

Her lippes, erst like the corall redde, 

Did waxe both wan and pale, 
And for the sorrow she conceivde ?r> 

Her vitall spirits faile : 

And falling down all in a swoone 

Before king Henryes face, 
Full oft he in his princelye armes 

Her bodye did embrace • 80 

And twentye times, with watery eyes, 

He kist her tender cheeke, 
Until he had revivde againe 

Her senses milde and meeke. 

Whv grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose ' ft. r > 

The king did often say. 
Because, quoth shee, to bloodye wanes 

My lord must part awaye. 

But since your grace on forrayne coastes 

Amonge your foes unkinde 90 

Must goe to hazarde life and limbe. 
Why should 1 staye behinde ? 

Nay rather, let me, like a page, 

Your SWOrde and target heare, 
That on my breast the Uowes may lighte, 9b 

\\ Inch would offend you there. 

Or lett mee, in vour royal tent. 

Prepare vour bed at nighte, 
And with Bweete baths refresh your grace, 

At your retuine from lighte. 100 

So I your presence may onjoye 

\n toil 1 will refuse ; 

But wanting you, my life is deatn ; 
Nay, death lr' rather ch u « 



QUEEN ELEANORS CONFESSION 



12 f 



" Content thy self, my dearest love ; 105 

Thy rest at home shall bee 
In Englandes sweet and pleasant isle ; 

For travell fits not thee. 

Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres ; 

Soft peace their sexe delightes: 110 

' Not rugged campes, but courtlye bowers ; 

Gay feastes, nor cruell fightes.' 

My Rose shall safely here abide, 

With musicke passe the day ; 
Whilst I, aroonge the piercing pikes, 115 

My foes seeke far awaye. 

My Rose shall shine in pearle, and guide, 

Whilst Ime in armour dighte ; 
Gay galliards here my love shall dance, 

Whilst I my foes goe fighte. 120 

And you, Sir Thomas, whom I truste 

To bee my loves defence ; 
Be careful of my gallant Rose 

When I am parted hence." 

And therewithall he fetcht a sigh, 125 

As though his heart would breake : 
And Rosamonde, for very griefe, 

Not one plaine word could speake. 

And at their parting well they niighte 

In heart be grieved sore : 130 

After that daye faire Rosamonde 
The king did see no more. 

For when his grace had past the seas, 

And into France was gone ; 
With envious heart, Queene Ellinor, 135 

To Woodstocke came anone. 

And forth she calls this trustye knighte 

In an unhappy houre ; 
Who with his clue of twined thread, 

Came from this famous bower. 140 

And when that they had wounded him, 

The queene this thread did gette, 
And went where ladye Rosamonde 

Was like an angell sette. 

But when the queene with stedfast eye 145 

Beheld her beauteous face, 
She was amazed in her minde 

At her exceeding grace. 



Cast off from thee those robes, she said, 

That riche and costlye bee ; 150 

And drinke thou up this deadlye draught, 
Which I have brought to thee. 

Then presentlye upon her knees 

Sweet Rosamonde did falle ; 
And pardon of the queene she crav'd 155 

For her offences all. 

" Take pitty on my youth full yeares, 

Faire Rosamonde did crye ; 
And lett mee not with poison stronge 

Enforced bee to dye. 160 

I will renounce my sinfull life, 

And in some cloyster bide ; 
Or else be banisht, if you please, 

To range the world soe wide. 

And for the fault which I have done, 165 

Though I was forc'd theretoe, 
Preserve my life, and punish mte 

As you thinke meet to doe." 

And with these words, her lillie handes 

She wrunge full often there ; 170 

And downe along her lovely face 
Did trickle many a teare. 

But nothing could this furious queene 

Therewith appeased bee ; 
The cup of deadlye poyson stronge, 175 

As she knelt on her knee, 

Shee gave this comelye dame to drinke ; 

Who tooke it in her hand, 
And from her bended knee arose, 

And on her feet did stand : 180 

And casting up her eyes to heaven, 

Shee did for mercye calle ; 
And drinking up the poison stronge, 

Her life she lost withalle. 

And when that death through everye iimbe 

Had showde its greatest spite, 185 

Her chiefest foes did plaine confesse 
Shee was a glorious wight. 

Her body then they did entomb, 

When life was fled away, 
At Godstowe, neare to Oxford towne, 190 

As may be seene this day. 



VIII. 
QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSION. 



" Eleanor, the daughter and heiress of William 
duke of Guienne, and count of Poictou, had been 
married sixteen years to Louis VII. king of France, 
and had attended him in a croisade, which that mo- 
narch commanded against the infidels ; but having 
lost the affections of her husband, and even fallen un- 



der some suspicions of gallantry with a handsome 
Saracen, Louis, more delicate than politic, procured 
a divorce from her, and restored her those rich pro- 
vinces, which by her marriage she had annexed to 
the crown of France. The young count of Anjou, 
afterwards Henry II. King of England, though at 



l?s 



QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSION. 



that time but i:. his nineteenth year, neither d*scou- 
raged by the disparity of age, nor by die reports of 
Eleanors gallantry, made such successful conrtship 

to that princess, that he married her six weeks after 

her divorce, and got possession of all her dominions 
as a dowery. A marriage thus founded upon interest 
was not likely to be very happy: it happened ac- 
cordingly. Eleanor, who hail disgusted her first 
husband by her gallantries, was no less offensive to 
her second by her iealousy : thus carrying to extre- 
mity, in the different parts of her life, every circum- 
stance of female weakness. She had several sons by 
Henry, whom she spirited up to rebel against him ; 
and endeavouring to escape to them disguised in 
man's apparel in 1173, she was discovered and thrown 
into a confinement, which seems to have continued 
till the death of her husband in 1189. She however 
survived him many years ; dying in 1204, in the 
sixth year of 'the reign of her youngest son, John." 
See Hume's History, -Ato. vol. I. pp. 260, 307. Speed, 
Stowe. &c. 

It is needless to observe that the following ballad 
(given, with some corrections, from an old printed 
copy) is altogether fabulous ; whatever gallantries 
Eleanor encouraged in the time of her first bus- 
band, none are imputed to her in that of her se- 
cond. 

Queene Elianor was a sicke woman, 

And afraid that she should dye ; 
Then she sent for two fryars of France 

To speke with her speedilye. 

The king calld downe his nobles all, 5 

By one, by two, by three ; 
" Earl marshall, He goe shrive the queene, 

And thou shalt wend with mee." 

A boone, a boone ; quoth earl marshall, 

And fell on his bended knee ; 10 

That whatsoever Queene Elianor save, 
No harme therof may bee. 

He pawne my landes, the king then cryd, 

My sceptre, crowne, and all, 
That whatsoere Queen Elianor sayes 15 

No harme thereof shall fall. 

Do thou put on a fryars coat, 

And He put on another ; 
And we will to Queen Elianor goe 

Like fryar and his brother. 20 

Thus both attired then they goe: 

When they came to \\ hitehall, 

The hells did ring, and the quiristers sing, 
And the torches did Lighte them all. 

When that they came before the queene 85 

1 hey fell on their bended knee ; 
A boone. a boone, our gracious queene, 

1 hat yoil sent so ha^tilee. 

Are you two fryars of I'rance, she sa\d, 

As I suppose \ on bee I St) 

lint if you are two Englishe fryars, 

You shall hang on the galloues tree. 



We are two fryars of France, they savd, 

As you suppose we bee, 
We have not been at any masse 35 

Sith we came from the sea. 

The first vile thing that ever I did 

I will to you unfolde ; 
Earl marshall had mv maidenhead, 

Beneath this cloth of golde. 40 

That's a vile sinne, then savd the king ; 

May God forgive it thee ! 
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall ; 

With a heavye heart spake bee. 

The next vile thing that ever I did, 4 5 

To you lie not denye, 
I made a boxe of poyson strong, 

To poison King Henrye. 

Thats a vile sinne, then savd the king, 

May God forgive it thee ! 50 

Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall ; 
And I wish it so may bee. 



The next vile thing that ever I did, 

To you I will discover ; 
1 poyscned fair Rosamonde, 55 

All in fair Woodstocke bower. 

Thats a vile sinne, then savd the king ; 

May God forgive it thee! 
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall ; 

And I wish it so may bee. 60 

Do you see yonders little boye, 

A tossing of the balle ? 
That is earl marshalls eldest sonne, 

And I love him the best of all. 

Do you see yonders little boye, (i.'> 

A catching of the balle ? 
That is king Henryes youngest sonne 

And I love him the worst of all. 



I lis* head is fashyon'd like ahull ; 

His nose is like a boare. 70 

No matter for that, king Henrye cryd, 

I love him the better therfore 

The king pulled off his fryars coate, 

And appeared all in redde : 
She shrieked, and cryd, and wrung her hands, 7.S 

And sayd she was betrayde. 

The king lookt over his left shoulder, 

And a grimme look looked bee, 
Earl marshall, he savd, but for my oathe 

Or hanged thou shouldst bee. 80 



Vcr. fi.'J, «!7. She means tint the eldest of these tw< 
by the Mail Marshall, the youngest by the kins; 



THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN. 



IX 



129 



THE STURDY ROCK. 



This poem, subscribed M. T. [perhaps invertedly 
for T. Marshall *] is preserved in " The Paradise of 
daintie Devises," quoted above in page 123. The 
two first stanzas may be found accompanied with 
musical notes in " An Howres Recreation in Mu- 
sicke," &c. by Richard Alison, Lond. 1606, 4to: 
usually bound up with three or four sets of " Madri- 
gals set to Music by Thomas Weelkes, Lond. 1597, 
1600, 1608, 4to." One of these madrigals is so 
complete an example of the Bathos that I cannot 
forbear presenting it to the reader. 
Thule, the period of cosmographie, 

Doth vaunt of Hecla, whose sulphureous fire 
Doth melt the frozen clime, and thaw the skie, 

Trinacrian ^Etna's flames ascend not hier : 
These things seeme wondrous, yet more wondrous I, 
Whose heart with feare doth freeze, with love doth fry. 

The Andelusian merchant, that returnes 
Laden with cutchinele and china dishes, 

Reports in Spaine, how strangely Fogo burnes 
Amidst an ocean full of flying fishes : 

These things seeme wondrous, yet more wondrous I, 

Whose heart with feare doth freeze, with love doth fry . 

Mr. Weelkes seems to have been of opinion with 
many of his brethren of later times, that nonsense 
was best adapted to display the powers of musical 
composure. 



The sturdy rock for all his strength 
By raging seas is rent in twaine : 

The marble stone is pearst at length, 
With little drops of drizling rain : 

The oxe doth yeeld unto the yoke, 

The Steele obeyeth the hammer stroke. 

The stately stagge, that seemes so stout, 
By yalping hounds at bay is set : 

The swiftest bird, that flies about, 
Is caught at length in fowler's net : 

The greatest fish, in deepest brooke, 

Is soon deceived by subtill hooke. 

Yea man himselfe, unto whose will 
All things are bounden to obey, 

For all his wit and worthie skill, 
Doth fade at length and fall away. 

There is nothing but time doeth waste ; 

The heavens, the earth consume at last. 

But vertue sits triumphing still 
Upon the throne of glorious fame : 

Though spiteful death mans body kill, 
Yet hurts he not his vertuous name : 

By life or death what so betides, 

The state of vertue never slides. 



LO 



15 



20 



X. 
THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN. 



This popular old ballad was written in the reign 
of Elizabeth, as appears not only from ver. 23, 
where the arms of England are called the " Queenes 
armes ;" but from its tune's being quoted in other 
old pieces, written in her time. See the ballad on 
"Mary Ambree," in this work. The late Mr. 
Guthrie assured the editor, that he had formerly 
seen another old song on the same subject, composed 
in a different measure from this ; which was truly 
beautiful, if we may judge from the only stanza he 
remembered. In this it was said of the old beggar, 
that " down his neck 

his reverend lockes 

In comelye curies did wave ; 

And on his aged temples grewe 

The blossomes of the grave." 

The following Ballad is chiefly given from the 

Editor's folio MS. compared with two ancient printed 

copies : the concluding stanzas, which contain the 

old Beggar's discovery of himself, are not however 

# Vid. Athen. Ox. p. 152, 316. 



given from any of these, being very different from 
those of the vulgar ballad. Nor yet does the Editor 
offer them as genuine, but as a modern attempt to 
remove the absurdities and inconsistencies, which 
so remarkably prevailed in this part of the song, as 
it stood before : whereas, by the alteration of a few 
lines, the story is rendered much more affecting, 
and is reconciled to probability and true history. 
For this informs us, that at the decisive battle of 
Evesham, (fought August 4, 1265,) when Simon de 
Montfort, the great Earl of Leicester, was slain at 
the head of the barons, his eldest son, Henry, fell 
by his side, and, in consequence of that defeat, his 
whole family sunk for ever, the king bestowing their 
great honours and possessions on his second son, 
Edmund, Earl of Lancaster. 

PART THE FIRST. 

Itt was a blind beggar, had long lost his sight, 
He had a faire daughter of bewty moat bright : 
And many a gallant brave suiter had shee, 
For none was soe comelye as pretty Bessee. 



ISO 



THK BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BLI).\ A LL-GREEN. 



And though shee was of favor most faire, 
Yett seeing shee was but a poor beggars heyre 
Of aocyent housekeepers despised was shee, 
Whose sonnes came as suitors to prettye Bessee. 

Wherefore in great sorrow faire Bessy did say, 
Good father, and mother, let me goe away 10 

To seeke out my fortune, whatever itt bee. 
This suite then they granted to prettye Bessee. 

Then Bessy, that was of bewtye soe bright, 
All cladd in gray russett, and late in the night 
From father and mother alone parted shee ; 15 

Who sighed and sobbed for prettye Bessee. 

Shee went till shee came to Stratford-le-Bow ; 
Then knew shee not whither, nor which way to goe : 
With teares shee lamented her hard destinie, 
So sadd and soe heavy was pretty Bessee. 20 

Shee kept on her journey untill it was day, 
And went unto Rumford along the bye way ; 
Where at the Queenes armes entertained was shee : 
Soe faire and wel favoured was pretty Bessee. 

Shee had not been there a month to an end, 25 

But master and mistres and all was her friend : 
And every brave gallant, that once did her see . 
Was straight-way enamourd of pretty Bessee. 

Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold, 
And in their songs daylye her love was extold ; 30 
Her beawtye was blazed in every degree ; 
Soe faire and soe comelye was pretty Bessee. 

The young men of Rumford in her had their joy , 
Shee shewed herself curteous, and modestlye coye ; 
And at her commandment still wold they bee ; 35 
Soe fayre and soe comlye was pretty Bessee. 

Foure suitors att once unto her did goe ; 
They craved her favor, but still she sayd noe ; 
| I wold not wish gentles to marry with mee. 

Yett ever they honored prettye Bessee. 40 

j The first of them was a gallant young knight, 
J And he came unto her disguisde in the night, 
The second a gentleman of good degree, 
Who wooed and sued for prettye Bessee. 

Amerchantof London, whose wealth was not small, 45 
He was the third suiter, and proper withall : 
Her masters own sonne the fourth man must bee, 
Who swore he would dye for pretty Bessee. 

And, if thou wilt marry with mee, quoth the knight, 
Hi' make thee a lad\e with joy and delight ; 50 

My hart's so inthralled by thy bewtie. 
That soone 1 shall dye for prettye Bessee. 

The gentleman ttyd, Come, marry with mee. 

As fine as a ladve inv BeBSy slial bee : 

My life is distressed : () heare nie, quoth hee ; 55 

And grant me thy love, inv prettye Lessee. 

Let me boo thy husband, the merchant cold say, 

Thou shalt live in London both gallant and gay j 
My shippos shall bring home r\ 00 Jewells for thee. 
And 1 will for ever love pretty Bessee. 60 



Then Bessy shee sighed, and thus shee did say, 
My father and mother I meane to obey ; 
First gett there good will, and be faithfull to mee, 
And you shall enjoye your prettye Bessee. 

To every one this answer shee made, 65 

Wherefore unto her they joyfullye sayd, 

This thing to fulfill wee all doe agree ; 

But where dwells tby father, my prettye Bessee ? 

My father, shee said, is soone to be seene : 

The seely blind beggar of Bednall-greene, 70 

That daylye sits begging for charitie, 

He is the good father of pretty Bessee. 

His markes and his tokens are knowen very well } 
He alwayes is led with a dogg and a bell : 
A seely olde man, God knoweth, is hee, 75 

Yett hee is the father of pretty Bessee. 

Nay then, quoth the merchant, thou art not for mee : 
Nor, quoth the innholder, my wiffe thou shalt bee : 
I lothe, sayd the gentle, a beggars degree, 
And therefore, adewe, my pretty Bessee ! 80 

Why then, quoth the knight, hap better or worse, 
I waighe not true love by the waight of the pursse, 
And bewtye is bewtye in every degree ; 
Then welcome unto me, my pretty Bessee. 

With thee to thy father forthwith I will goe. 85 
Nay soft, quoth his kinsmen, it must not be soe ; 
A poor beggars daughter noe ladye shall bee, 
Then take thy adew of pretty Bessee. 

But soone after this, by breake of the day 
The knight had from Rumford stole Bessy away. 90 
The younge men of Rumford, as thicke might bee, 
Rode after to feitch againe pretty Bessee. 

As swifte as the wvnde to ryde they were seene, 
Untill they came neare unto Bednall-greene ; 
And as the knight lighted most courteouslie 95 

They all fought against him for pretty Bessee. 

But rescevv' came speedilye over the plaine, 

Or else the young knight for his love had been slaine. 

This fray being ended, then straitway he see 

His kinsmen come rayling at pretty Bessee. 100 

Then spake the blind beggar, Although I bee poore, 
Yett rayle not against my child at my own doore : 
Though shee be not decked in velvett and pearle, 
Yett will I dropp angells with you for my girle. 

And then, if my gold may better her birthe, 105 
And equall the gold that you lay on the earth, 
Then neyther rayle nor grudge you to see 
The blind beggars daughter a lady to bee. 

But first you shall promise, and have itt well knowne, 
The gold that you drop shall all be your owne. 110 
With that they replyed, Contented bee wee. 
Then here's, quoth the beggar for pretty Bessee. 

With that an angell he cast on the ground, 
And dropped in angels full three thousand* pound ; 
And oftentimes itt was proved most plaino, 115 

For the gentiemens one the beggar droppt twayne : 

• In the Editor's folio MS. it is 500/. 



THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDN ALL- GREEN. 



m 



Soe that the place, wherein they did sitt, 

With gold it was covered every whitt. 

The gentlemen then having dropt all their store, 

Sayd, Now, beggar, hold, for wee have noe more. 120 

Thou hast fulfilled thy promise arright. 
Then marry, quoth he, my girle to this knight ; 
And heere, added hee, I will now throwe you downe 
A hundred pounds more to buy her a gowne. 

The gentlemen all, that this treasure had seene, 125 
Admired the beggar of Bednall-greene : 
And all those, that were her suitors before, 
Their fleshe for very anger they tore. 

Thus was fair Besse matched to the knight, 

And then made a ladye in others despite : 130 

A fairer ladye there never was seene, 

Than the blind beggars daughter of Bednall-greene. 

But of their sumptuous marriage and feast, 
What brave lords and knights thither were prest, 
The second fitt * shall set forth to your sight 135 
With marveilous pleasure and wished delight. 

PART THE SECOND. 

Off a blind beggars daughter most bright, 
That late was betrothed unto a younge knight ; 
All the discourse therof you did see ; 
But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee. 

Within a gorgeous palace most brave, 5 

Adorned with all the cost they cold have, 
This wedding was kept most sumptuouslie, 
And all for the creditt of pretty Bessee. 

All kind of dainties, and delicates sweete 
Were bought for the banquet, as it was most meete ; 10 
Partridge, and plover, and venison most free, 
Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee. 

This marriage through England was spread by report, 
So that a great number thereto did resort 
Of nobles and gentles in every degree ; 15 

And all for the fame of prettye Bessee. 

To church then went this gallant younge knight ; 
His bride followed after, an angell most bright, 
With troopes of ladyes, the like nere was seene 
As went with sweete Bessy of Bednall-greene. 20 

This marryage being solempnized then, 
With musicke performed by the skilfullest men, 
The nobles and gentles sate downe at that tyde, 
Each one admiring the beautifull bryde. 

Now, after the sumptuous dinner was done, 25 

To talke, and to reason a number begunn : 
They talkt of the blind beggars daughter most bright, 
And what with his daughter he gave to the knight. 

Then spake the nobles, " Much marveil have wee, 
This jolly blind beggar wee cannot here see." 30 
My lords, quoth the bride, my father's so base, 
He is loth with his presence these states to disgrace. 

" The prayse of a woman in questyon to bringe 
Before her own face, were a flattering thinge ; 
Put wee tbinke thy father's baseness, quoth they, 35 
Might by thy bewtye be cleane put awaye." 

* See an Essay on the word Fit at the end of the Second Part. 



They had noe sooner these pleasant words spoke, 
But in comes the beggar cladd in a silke cloke ; 
A faire velvet capp, and a fether had hee, 
And now a musicyan forsooth he wold bee. 40 

He had a daintye lute under his arme, 
He touched the strings, which made such a charme, 
Saies, Please you to heare any musicke of mee, 
He sing you a song of pretty Bessee. 

With that his lute he twanged straigtway, 45 

And thereon begaun most sweetlye to play ; 
And after that lessons were playd two or three, 
He strayn'd out this song most delicatelie. 

" A poore beggars daughter did dwell on a greene, 
Who for her faireness might well be a queene : 50 
A blithe bonny lasse, and a daintye was shee, 
And many one called her pretty Bessee. 

" Her father hee had noe goods, nor noe land, 
But beggd for a penny all day with his hand ; 
And yett to her marriage he gave thousands three*, 55 
And still he hath somewhat for pretty Bessee. 

" And if any one here her birth doe disdaine, 
Her father is ready, with might and with maine, 
To proove shee is come of noble degree : 
Therfore never flout att prettye Bessee." 60 

With that the lords and the companye round 
With harty laughter were readye to swound ; 
Att last said the lords, Full well wee may see, 
The bride and the beggar's behoulden to thee. 

I On this the bride all blushing did rise, 65 

The pearlie dropps standing within her faire eyes, 
O pardon my father, grave nobles, quoth shee, 
That throughe blind affection thus doteth on mee. 



If this be thy father, the nobles did say, 
Well may he be proud of this happy day ; 
Yett by his countenance well may wee see, 
His birth and his fortune did never agree ; 



70 



And therefore, blind man, we pray thee bewray, 
(And looke that the truth thou to us doe say) 
Thy birth and thy parentage, what itt may bee ; 75 
For the love that thou bearest to pretty Bessee. 

"Then give me leave, nobles and gentles, each one, 
One song more to sing, and then I have done; 
And if that itt may not winn good report, 
Then doe not give me a groat for my sport. 80 

" [Sir Simon de Montfort my subject shal bee ; 
Once chiefe of all the great barons was hee, 
Yet fortune so cruelle this lorde did abase, 
Now loste and forgotten are hee and his race. 

" When the barons in armes did King Henrye oppose, 
Sir Simon de Montfort their leader they chose j 86 
A leader of courage undaunted was hee, 
And oft-times he made their enemyes flee. 

" At length in the battle on Eveshame plaine 
The barons were routed, and Montfort was slaine ; 
Moste fatall that battel did prove unto thee, 91 

Thoughe thou wast not borne then , my prettye Bessee • 



So the folio MS. 



K 2 



39 



THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN. 



" Along with the HOMOS, that fell at tliat tyde, 

II is eldest son Heniye, who fought l>v his side, 

\\ a-> felde l)v a blowe, he recei\ de in t lie fight ! 95 
A blowe that deprivde him for ever of sight. 

"Among the dead bodyes all lifelesse he lave, 
Till evening drewe on of the following daye, 
When by a yong ladye discovcrd was hee ; 
And this was thy mother my prettye Bessee ! 100 

" A barons faire daughter stept forth in the nighte 
To search for her father, who fell in the fight, 
And seeing yong Montfort, where gasping he lave, 
"Was moved with pitye, and brought him awaye. 

" In secrette she nurst him, and swaged his paine, 105 
While he throughe the realm e was beleevd to be 

slaine : 
At length his faire bride she consented to bee, 
And made him glad father of prettye Bessee. 

" And nowe lest oure foes our lives sholde betraye, 
We clothed ourselves in beggars arraye ; 110 

Her jewelles shee solde, and hither came wee : 
All our comfort and care was our prettye Bessee.] 

" And here have wee lived in fortunes despite, 
Thoughe poore, yet contented with humble delighte : 
Full forty winters thus have I beene 115 

A silly blind beggar of Bednall-greene. 

" And here, noble lordes, is ended the song 
Of one, that once to your own ranke did belong : 
And thus have you learned a secrette from mee, 
That ne'er had beene knowne, but for prettye 
Bessee." 120 

Now when the faire companye everye one, 

Had heard the strange tale in the song he had 

showne, 
They all were amazed, as well they might bee, 
Both at the blinde beggar, and pretty Bessee. 

With that the faire bride they all did embrace, 125 
Saying, Sure thou art come of an honourable race, 
Thy father likewise is of noble degree, 
And thou art well worthy a lady to bee. 

Thus was the feast ended with joye and delighte, 
A bridegroome most happy then was the younge 

knighte, 
In joy and felicitie long lived hee, 131 

All with his faire ladye, the pretty Bessee. 



tH Tho word fit for part, often occurs in our 
ancient ballads and metrical romances ; which being 
divided into several parts for the convenience of 
singing them at public entertainments, were in the 
interrau of the feast song l>v fits, or intermissions. 
So Pnttenham in Ins Art of English Poesie, 1589, 
says, " the Kpithalamie was divided by breaches 
into three partes to servo for three several fits, or 
times to be sung." p. 1 1. 

From the same writer we learn some curious par- 
ticulars relative to the state of ballad-singing in 
that age, that will throw light on the present subject: 
Ipeakmg of the quick returns of one manner of tune 
in the short measures OSOd hv common rhvmers ; 
these, he says, " glut the care, unless it be in small 



and popular musickes, sung by these Cantabanqui 
upon benches and barrels heads, where they have 
none other audience then boys or countrey fellowes, 
that passe by them in the streete ; or else by blind 
harpers, or such like taverne Minstrels, that gave a 
fit of mirth for a groat,, .their matter being for the 
most part stories of old time, as the tale of Sir 
Topas, the reportes of Bevis of Southampton, Guy of 
Warwicke, Adam Bell and Clymme of the Clough, 
and such other old romances or historical rimes, 
made purposely for recreation of the common people 
at Christmasse dinners and brideales, and in tavernes 
and alehouses, and such other places of base re- 
sorte." p. 69. 

This species of entertainment which seems to have 
been handed down from the ancient bards, was in 
the time of Puttenham falling into neglect ; but that 
it was not, even then, wholly excluded more genteel 
assemblies, he gives us room to infer from another 
passage, " We ourselves," says this courtly* writer, 
" have written for pleasure a little brief romance, or 
historical ditty in the English tong of the Isle of 
Great Britaine in short and long meetres, and by 
breaches or divisions [i. e. fits] to be more commo- 
diously sung to the harpe in places of assemblv, 
where the company shal be desirous to heare of old 
adventures, and valiaunces of noble knights in times 
past, as are those of King Arthur and his knights of 
the Round Table, Sir Bevys of Southampton, Guy 
of Warwicke, and others like." p. 33. 

In more ancient times no grand scene of festivity 
was complete without one of these reciters to enter- 
tain the company with feats of arms, and tales of 
knighthood, or, as one of these old minstrels says, 
in the beginning of an ancient romance on Guy and 
Colbronde, in the Editor's folio MS. 

" When meate and drinke is great plentye, 
And lords and ladyes still wil bee, 

And sitt and solace t lythe ; 
Then itt is time for mee to speake 
Of keene knightes, and kempes great, 

Such carping for to kythe." 

If we consider that a groat in the age of Elizabeth 
was more than equivalent to a shilling now, we 
shall find that the old harpers were even then, when 
their art was on the decline, upon a far more reputa- 
ble footing than the ballad-singers of our time. The 
reciting of one such ballad as this of the Beggar of 
Bednall-green, in two parts, was rewarded with half 
a crown of our money. And that they made a very 
respectable appearance, we may learn from the dress 
of the old beggar, in the preceding ballad, p. 131, 
where he comes into company in the habit and 
character of one of these minstrels, being not known 
to be the bride's father, till after her speech, ver. 63. 
The exordium of his song, and his claiming a groat 
for his reward, ver. 80, are peculiarly characteristic 
of that profession. — Most of the old ballads begin in 
a pompous manner, in order to captivate the atten- 
tion of the audience, and induce them to purchase a 
recital of the song : and they seldom conclude the 
first part without large promisee of still greater 
entertainment in the second. This was a necessary 
piece of art to incline the hearers to be at the ex- 
pense of a second groat's-worth. — Many of the old 

• He was one of Queen Elisabeth's gent, pensioners, at a 
time when the whole band consisted or nun of distinguished 
bit tii and fortune. Vid. Aih. Ox. t Perhaps " blythe." 



FANCY AND DESIRE. 



133 



romances extend to eight or nine fits, which would 
afford a considerable profit to the reciter. 

To return to the word fit ; it seems at one time 
to have peculiarly signified the pause, or breathing- 
time, between the several parts (answering to Passus 
in the visions of Pierce Plowman) : thus in the 
ancient ballad of " Chevy-Chace," (p. 3,) the first 
Part ends with this line, 

" The first fit here I fynde : " 
i. e. here I come to the first pause or intermis- 
sion. (See also p. 5.) By degrees it came to 
signify the whole part or division preceding the 
pause. (Seethe concluding verses of the first and 
second parts of " Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough, 
and William of Cloudesly," in this work.) This sense 
it had obtained so early as the time of Chaucer : 
who thus concludes the first part of his rhyme of 
Sir Thopas (writ in ridicule of the old ballad ro- 
mances) : 

" Lo ! lordis mine, here is a fitt : 
If ye woll any more of it, 
To tell it woll I fonde." 

The word fit indeed appears originally to have sig- 
nified a poetic strain, verse, or poem : for in these 
senses it is used by the Anglo-Saxon writers. Thus 
King Alfred in his Boetius, having given a version 
of lib. 3, metr. 5, adds, Dape pipbom tha thap pitte 
apunjen hspfee p. 65, i. e. " When wisdom had 
sung these [fitts] verses." And in the Proem to 



the same book Fon on pitre, " Put into [fitt] verse." 
So in Cedmon, p. 45. Feon 1 © on puree, seems to 
mean " composed a song," or " poem." — The reader 
will trace this old Saxon phrase, in the application 
of the word fond, in the foregoing passage of Chaucer. 
See Gloss. 

Spenser has used the word fit to denote " a strain 
of music : " see his poem entitled, " Collin Clout's 
come home again," where he says, 

The Shepherd of the ocean [Sir Walt. Raleigh] 
Provoked me to play some pleasant fit. 

And when he heard the music which I made 
He found himselfe full greatlye pleas'd at it, &c. 

It is also used in the old ballad of King Estmere, 
p. 16, v. 243. 

From being applied to music, this word was 
easily transferred to dancing ; thus in the old play 
of " Lusty Juventus " (described in p. 117), Juven- 
tus says, 

By the masse I would fayne go daunce a fitte. 

And from being used as *a part or division in a 
ballad, poem, &c. it is applied by Bale to a section 
or chapter in a book, (though I believe in a sense of 
ridicule or sarcasm) for thus he entitles two chapters 

of his " English Dotaryes," part 2, viz fol. 49, 

" The first fytt of Anselme with Kynge Wyllyam Ru- 

fns." fol. 50, "An other fytt of Anselme with Kynge 

Wyllyam Rufas." 



XI. 



FANCY AND DESIRE. 



BY THE EARL OF OXFORD. 



Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford, was in high fame 
for his poetical talents in the reign of Elizabeth : 
perhaps it is no injury to his reputation that few of 
his compositions are preserved for the inspection of 
impartial posterity. To gratify curiosity, we have 
inserted a sonnet of his, which is quoted with great 
encomiums for its " excellencie and wit," in Putten- 
ham's "Arte of Eng. Poesie*," and found entire in 
the " Garland of Good-will." A few more of his son- 
nets (distinguished by the initial letters E. O.) may 
be seen in the " Paradise of Daintie Devises." One of 
these is entitled, " The Complaint of a Lover, wear- 
ing blacke and tawnie." The only lines in it worth 
notice are these, 

A crowne of baies shall that man * beare ' 
Who triumphs over me ; 

For black and tawnie will I weare, 
Which mourning colours be. 
^ We find in Hall's Chronicle, that when Queen 
Catharine of Arragon died, Jan 8, 1536; "Queen 
Anne [Bullen] ware yellowe for the mourning." 
And when this unfortunate princess lost her head, 
May 19, the same year, " on the ascencion day fol- 
lowing, the kyng for mourning ware whvte." Fol. 
227, 228. J 



* Lond. 1589, p. 172. 



Edward, who was the seventeenth Earl of Oxford, 
of the family of Vere, succeeded his father in his title 
and honours in 1562, and died an aged man in 1604. 
See Mr. Walpole's Noble Authors. Athen. Oxon. 
&c. 

Come hither shepherd's swayne : 

" Sir, what do you require 1" 
I praye thee, shewe to me thy name. 

My name is " Fond Desire." 

When wert thou borne, Desire ? 5 

" In pompe and pryme of may." 
By whom, sweet boy, wert thou begot 1 

" By fond Conceit men say." 

Tell me, who was thy nurse 1 

" Fresh Youth in sugred joy." 10 

What was thy meate and dayly foode ? 

" Sad sighes with great annoy." 

W hat hadst thou then to drinke 1 

" Unsavoury lovers teares." 
What cradle wert thou rocked in ? 15 

" In hope devoyde of feares." 

What lulld thee then asleepe ? 

" Sweete speech, which likes me best." 
Tell me, where is thy dwelling place 1 

" In gentle hartes I rest." 20 



IS I 



SIR ANDREW BARTON. 



What thin^ doth please thee most ? 

" To gaae on beantye stille." 
Whom dost thou thinke to be thy foe ' 

" Disdayn of my good wille." 

Doth companye displease ' 
" Ves. rarelye, many one." 

Where doth Desire delights to live ? 
" He loves to live alone. 



25 



Doth either tyme or age 

Bringe him unto decay e? 
" N o, no, Desire both lives and dves 

" Ten thousand times a daye." 

Then, fond Desire, farewelle, 

Thou art no mate for mee ; 
I sholde be lothe, methinkes, to dwelle 

With such a one as thee. 



SO 



35 



XII. 



SIR ANDREW BARTON. 



I cannot give a better relation of the fact, which 
is the subject of the following ballad, than in an ex- 
tract from the late Mr. Guthrie's Peerage ; which 
was begun upon a very elegant plan, but never 
finished. Vol. 1. 4to. p. 22. 

" The transactions which did the greatest honour 
to the Earl of Surrey* and his family at this time 
[A. D. 1511.] was their behaviour in the case of 
Barton, a Scotch sea-officer. This gentleman's fa- 
ther having suffered by sea from the Portugese, he 
had obtained letters of marque for his two sons to 
make reprisals upon the subjects of Portugal. It is 
extremely probable, that the court of Scotland granted 
these letters with no very honest intention. The 
council board of England, at which the Earl of 
Surrey held the chief place, was daily pestered with 
complaints from the sailors and merchants, that 
Barton, who was called Sir Andrew Barton, under 
pretence of searching for Portugese goods, inter- 
rupted the English navigation. Henry's situation at 
that time rendered him backward from breaking with 
Scotland, so that their complaints were but coldly 
received. The Earl of Surrey, however, could not 
smother his indignation, but gallantly declared at 
the council board, that while he had an estate that 
could furnish out a ship, or a son that was capable 
of commanding one, the narrow seas should not be 
infested. 

" Sir Andrew Barton, who commanded the two 
Scotch ships, had the reputation of being one of the 
ablest sea officers of his time. By his depredations, 
lie had amassed great wealth, and his ships were very 
richly laden. Henry, notwithstanding his situation, 
could not refuse the generous offer made by the Earl 
of Surrey. Two ships were immediately fitted out, 
and put to sea with letters of marque, under his two 
sons, Sir Thomasf and Sir Edward Howard. After 
encountering a great deal of foul weather, Sir Thomas 
( aiue ii]> with the Lion, which was commanded by 
Sir Andrew Barton in person ; and Sir Edward came 

■ 1 1 > with the Union, Barton's other ship, [called by 

Hall, the Hark of Scotland.] The engagement which 
in mil was extremely obstinate on both sides; but 

at last the fortune of the Howards prevailed. Sir 

Andrew w as killed fighting bravely, and encouraging 
liis men w illi his vrhlStle, >«> hold out to the last ; and 
the two Scotch ihipfl with their crews, were carried 
III!., the liiver 'I hames. | Aug. 'J, 151 1. | 



• Thomiu Howard, afterward cr 
t Called bj old bUtoriani Lord H< 
l .it I of Barrel la bU fotbei '- lire I 
the \>"< t n it Bar! <>i Surrey. 



lated Duke mi Norfolk. 
w.ini, .(in i w ardi created 
me He Han father of 



" This exploit had the more merit, as the two 
English commanders were in a manner volunteers in 
the service, by their father's order. But it seems to 
have laid the foundation of Sir Edward's fortune ; 
for, on the 7th of April 1512, the king constituted 
him (according to Dugdale) admiral of England, 
Wales, &c. 

" King James ' insisted ' upon satisfaction for the 
death of Barton, and capture of his ship : ' though ' 
Henry had generously dismissed the crews, and 
even agreed that the parties accused might appear in 
his courts of admiralty by their attornies, to vindi- 
cate themselves." This affair was in a great measure 
the cause of the battle of Flodden, in which James 
IV. lost his life. 

In the following ballad will be found perhaps some 
few deviations from the truth of history : to atone 
for which it has probably recorded many lesser tacts, 
which history hath not condescended to relate. I 
take many of the little circumstances of the story to 
be real, because I find one of the most unlikely to be 
not very remote from the truth. In Part 2, v. 156, 
it is said, that England had before "but two ships of 
war." Now the " Great Harry" had been built only 
seven years before, viz. in 1504 : which " was pro- 
perly speaking the first ship in the English navy. 
Before this period, when the prince wanted a fleet, 
he had no other expedient but hiring ships from the 
merchants." Hume. 

This Ballad, which appears to have been written 
in the reign of Elizabeth, has received great improve- 
ments from the Editor's folio MS. wherein was an 
ancient copy, which though very incorrect, seemed 
in many respects superior to the common ballad ; 
the latter being evidently modernized and abridged 
from it. The following text is however in some 
places amended and improved by the latter (chiefly 
from a black-letter copy in the Pepys collection), as 
also by conjecture. 

THE FIRST PART. 

" When Flora with her fragrant flowers 

Bedeck t the earth so trim and gaye, 
And Neptune v/ith his deintye showers 

Came to present the monthe of Maye* ;" 
King llenrve rode to take the Byre, 5 

Over the river of Thames past bee ; 
When eighty merchants of London came, 

And dow ne they knelt upon their knee. 

• From the pr. cop/. 



SIR ANDREW BARTON. 



135 



" O yee are welcome, rich merchants ; 

Good saylors, welcome unto mee." 10 

They swore by the rood, they were saylors good, 

But rich merchants they cold not bee : 
" To France nor Flanders dare we pass : 

Nor Bourdeaux voyage dare we fare ; 
And all for a rover that lyes on the seas, 15 

Who robbs us of our merchant ware." 

King Henrye frownd, and turned him rounde, 

And swore by the Lord, that was mickle of might, 
" I thought he had not beene in the world, 

Durst have wrought England such unright." 20 
The merchants sighed, and said, alas ! 

And thus they did their answer frame, 
He is a proud Scott, that robbs on the seas, 

And Sir Andrewe Barton is his name. 

The king lookt over his left shoulder, 25 

And an angrye look then looked hee : 
" Have I never a lorde in all my realme, 

Will feitch yond traytor unto mee ? " 
Yea, that dare I ; Lord Howard sayes ; 

Yea, that dare I with heart and hand ; 30 

If it please youi grace to give me leave, 

Myselfe wil be the only man. 

Thou art but yong ; the kyng replyed : 

Yond Scott hath numbred manye a yeare. 
" Trust me, my liege, He make him quail, 35 

Or before my prince I will never appeare." 
Then bowemen and gunners thou shalt have, 

And chuse them over my realme so free ; 
Besides good mariners, and shipp-boyes, 

To guide the great shipp on the sea. 40 

The first man, that Lord Howard chose, 

Was the ablest gunner in all the realm, 
Thoughe he was threescore yeeres and ten ; 

Good Peter Simon was his name. 
Peter, sais hee, I must to the sea, 45 

To bring home a traytor live or dead : 
Before all others I have chosen thee ; 

Of a hundred gunners to be the head. 

If you, my lord, have chosen mee 

Of a hundred gunners to be the head, 50 

Then hang me up on your maine-mast tree, 

If I misse my marke one shilling bread *. 
My lord then chose a boweman rare, 

" Whose active hands had gained fame t 
In Yorkshire was this gentleman borne, 55 

And William Horseley was his name J. 

Horseley, sayd he, I must with speede 

Go seeke a traytor on the sea, 
And now of a hundred bowemen brave ; 

To be the head I have chosen thee. 60 

If you, quoth hee, have chosen mee 

Of a hundred bowemen to be the head ; 
On your main-mast He hanged bee, 

If I miss twelvescore one penny bread. 



29, Lord Charles Howard, 



Ver. 15, 83, robber, MS. 
MS. 

* An old English word for breadth. t Pr. copy. 

wi 1 m ^ aiT ?^ e ' in his Notes t0 the Poem on the Battle of 
*kxlden Field contends, that this expert bowman's name 
vvas not Horseley, but Hustler, of a family long seated near 
Stockton, in Cleveland, Yorkshire. Vid p 5 



With pikes and gunnes, and bowemen bold, 65 

This noble Howard is gone to the sea ; 
With a valyant heart and a pleasant cheare, 

Out at Thames mouth sayled he. 
And days he scant had sayled three, 

Upon the ' voyage,' he tooke in hand, 70 

But there he mett with a noble shipp, 

And stoutely made itt stay and stand. 

Thou must tell me, Lord Howard said, 

Now who thou art, and what's thy name ; 
And shewe me where thy dwelling is : 75 

And whither bound, and whence thou came. 
My name is Henry Hunt, quoth hee 

With a heavye heart, and a carefull mind ; 
I and my shipp doe both belong 

To the Newcastle, that stands upon Tyne. 80 

Hast thou not heard, nowe, Henrye Hunt, 

As thou hast sayled by daye and by night, 
Of a Scottish rover on the seas ; 

Men call him Sir Andrew Barton, knight ? 
Then ever he sighed, and sayd alas ! 85 

With a grieved mind, and well away ! 
But over-well I knowe that wight, 

I was his prisoner yesterday. 

As I was sayling uppon the sea, 

A Burdeaux voyage for to fare ; 

To his hach-borde he clasped me, 

And robd me of all my merchant ware : 
And mickle debts, God wot, I owe, 

And every man will have his owne ; 
And I am nowe to London bounde, 95 

Of our gracious king to beg a boone. 

That shall not need, Lord Howard sais ; 

Lett me but once that robber see, 
For every penny tane thee froe 

It shall be doubled shillings three, 100 

Nowe God forefend, the merchant said, 

That you shold seek soe far amisse ! 
God keepe you out of that traitors hands ! 

Full litle ye wott what a man hee is. 

Hee is brasse within, and Steele without, 105 

W T ith beames on his topcastle stronge ; 
And eighteen pieces of ordinance 

He carries on each side along : 
And he hath a pinnace deerlye dight, 

St. Andrewes crosse that is his guide ; 110 

His pinnace beareth ninescore men, 

And fifteen canons on each side. 

Were ye twentye shippes, and he but one ; 

I sweare by kirke, and bower, and hall ; 
He wold overcome them everye one, 115 

If once his beames they doe downe fall*. 

Ver. 70, Journey, MS. V. 91, The MS. has here Arch- 
borde, but in Part II. ver. 5, Hachebord. 

* It should seem from hence, that before our marine artil- 
lery was brought to its present perfection, some naval com- 
manders had recourse to instruments or machines, similar 
in use, though perhaps unlike in construction, to the heavy 
Dolphins made of lead or iron used by the ancient Greeks ; 
which they suspended from beams or yards fastened to the 
mast, and which they precipitately let fall on the enemies 1 
ships, in order to sink them, by beating holes through the 
bottoms of their undecked Triremes, or otherwise damaging 
them. These are mentioned by Thucydides, lib. 7, p. 256, 
Ed. 1564, folio, and are more fully explained in Scheffer 
de Militia Navali, lib. 2, cap. 5, p. 136, Ed. 1653, 4to. 

N.B. It every where in the MS. seems to be written JBeanet. 






136 



SIR ANDREW BARTON. 



This is cold comfort, sais my lord, 

To wellcome ■ stranger thus to the spa : 

Vet He bring him and his shipp to shore, 

Or to Scottland bee shall carrve mee. iiO 

Then a noble gunner you must have, 

And he must aim well with his ee, 
And sinke his pinnace into the sea, 

Or else hee never orecome will bee : 
And if you chance his shipp to borde, 125 

This counsel I must give withall, 
Let no man to his topcastle goe 

To strive to let his beams downe fall. 

And seven pieces of ordinance, 

1 pray vour honour lend to mee, 130 

On each side of my shipp along, 

And I will lead you on the sea. 
A glasse He sett, that may be seene, 

Whether you sayle by day or night ; 
And to-morrowe, I sweare, by nine of the clockel35 

You shall meet with Sir Andrewe Barton knight. 

THE SECOND PART. 

The merchant sett my lorde a glasse 

Soe well apparent in his sight, 
Vnd on the morrowe, by nine of the clocke. 

He shewed him Sir Andrewe Barton knight. 
His hachebord it was ' gilt' with gold, 5 

Soe deerlye dight it dazzled the ee : 
Nowe by my faith, Lord Howarde sais, 

This is a gallant sight to see. 

Take in your ancyents, standards eke, 

So close that no man may them see ; 10 

And put me forth a white willowe wand, 

As merchants use to sayle the sea. 
But they stirred neither top, nor mast *; 

Stoutly they past Sir Andrew by. 
What English churles are yonder, he sayd, 15 

That can soe litle curtesye 1 

Now by the roode, three yeares and more 

I have beene admirall over the sea ; 
And never an English nor Portingall 

Without my leave can passe this way. '20 

Then called he forth his stout pinnace ; 

" Fetch backe yond pedlars nowe to mee : 
I sweare by the masse, yon English churles 

Shall all hang att my maine-mast tree." 

W T ith that the pinnace itt shott off, 25 

Full well Lord Howard might it ken ; 
For itt stroke down my lord's fore mast, 

And killed fourteen of his men. 
Come hither, Simon, saves my lord, 

Looke that thy word be true, thou said ; 30 

For at in v maine-mast thou shall bang, 

If thou misse thy marke one shilling bread. 

Simon was old, but his heart itt was bold. 

Ili^ ordinance be laid right lowe; 
lie put in chaine full nine yardea long, 95 

W ith other great shott lesse, and n>oe ; 

And ht* letta goe ins great guinea shott : 

Soe well he settled itt with his ee, 
The first sight that Sir Andrew saue, 
He IOC his pinnaee sunke m the >' a. 



I, ■ Inched with joM.' MS. V. 35, i. 
i ball ihot 

• i. i . ill. I DOf .-alllle 



10 
liw barged 



And when he saw his pinnace sunke, 

Lord, how his heart with rage did swell 1 
" Nowe cuttmy ropes, itt is time to be gon ; 

He fetch yond pedlars backe mysell," 
When my Lord sawe Sir Andrewe loose, 45 

Within his heart hee was full faine : 
" Nowe spread your ancyents, strike up drummes, 

Sound all your trumpetts out amaine." 

Fight on, my men, Sir Andrewe sais, 

Weale howsoever thisgeere will sway ; 50 

Itt is my lord admirall of England, 

Is come to seeke mee on the sea. 
Simon had a sonne, who shott right well, 

That did Sir Andrewe mickle scare ; 
In att his decke he gave a shott, 55 

Killed threescore of his men of warre. 

Then Henrye Hunt with rigour hott 

Came bravely on the other side, 
Soone he drove downe his fore-mast tree, 

And killed fourscore men beside. 60 

Nowe, out alas ! Sir Andrewe cryed, 

What may a man now thinke, or say ? 
Yonder merchant theefe, that pierceth mee, 

He was my prisoner yesterday. 

Come hither to me, thou Gordon good, 6i> 

That aye wast readye att mv call ; 
I will give thee three hundred markps, 

If thou wilt let my beames downe fall. 
Lord Howard hee then calld in haste, 

" Horseley see thou be true in stead ; 7 

For thou shalt at the maine-mast hang, 

If thou misse twelvescore one penny bread. 

Then Gordon swarved the maine-mast tree, 

He swarved it with might and maine , 
But Horseley with a bearing arrowe, 75 

Stroke the Gordon through the braine ; 
And he fell unto the baches again. 

And sore his deadlye wounde did bleede : 
Then word went through Sir Andrews men, 

How that the Gordon hee was dead. 80 

Come hither to mee, James Hambilton, 

Thou art my only sisters sonne, 
If thou wilt let my beames downe fall. 

Six hundred nobles thou hast wonne. 
With that he swarved the maine-mast tree, 85 

He swarved it with nimble art ; 
But Horseley with a broad arrowe 

Pierced the Hambilton thorough the heart : 

And downe he fell upon the deck, 

That with his blood did streame amaine : 90 

Then every Scott crved, Well-awav ! 

Alas a comely e youth is slaine ! 
All woe begone was Sir Andrew then, 

With gnefe and rage his heart did swell: 
" Go fetch me forth my armour of prooie, 9b 

For 1 will to the topcastle mysell." 

•• Goe fetch me forth my armour of prcofe ; 

That gilded is with gold BOB cleare : 
God he with mv brother John of Barton ! 

Against the Portingalls hee it ware ; 100 

\ . .. t.r, si, pound*, MS. V.75,bearinge,8c. that carriei 
well, &c, Hut see Gloss. 



LADY AN^E BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. 



137 



And when he had on this armour of proofe, 

He was a gallant sight to see : 
Ah ! nere didst thou meet with living wight, 

My deere brother, could cope with thee." 

Come hither Horseley, sayes my lord, 105 

And looke your shaft that itt goe right, 
Shoot a good shoote in time of need, 

And for it thou shalt be made a knight. 
He shoot my best, quoth Horseley then, 

Your honour shall see, with might andmaine ;110 
But if I were hanged at your maine-mast, 

I have now left but arrowes twaine. 

Sir Andrew he did swarve the tree, 

With right good will he swarved then : 
Upon his breast did Horsley hitt, 115 

But the arrow bounded back agen. 
Then Horseley spyed a privye place 

With a perfect eye in a secrette part ; 
Under the spole of his right arme 

He smote Sir Andrew to the heart. 120 

" Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew sayes, 

A little Ime hurt, but yett not slaine ; 
He but lye downe and bleede a while, 

And then He rise and fight againe. 
" Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew sayes, 125 

And never flinche before the foe ; 
And stand fast by St. Andrewes crosse 

Untill you heare my whistle blowe." 

They never heard his whistle blow, 

Which made their hearts waxe sore adread : 130 
Then Horseley sayd, Aboard, my lord, 

For well I wott Sir Andrew's dead. 
They boarded then his noble shipp, 

They boarded it with might and maine ; 
Eighteen score Scots alive they found, 135 

The rest were either maimed or slaine. 

Lord Howard tooke a sword in hand, 

And off he smote Sir Andrewes head, 
" 1 must have left England many a daye, 

If thou wert alive as thou art dead." 140 

He caused his body to be cast 

Over the hatchbord into the sea, 
And about his middle three hundred crownes : 

" Wherever thou land this will bury thee." 

Thus from the warres Lord Howard came, 145 

And backe he sayled ore the maine, 
With mickle joy and triumphing 

Into Thames mouth he came againe. 



Lord Howard then a letter wrote, 

And sealed it with seale and ring ; 150 

" Such a noble prize have I brought to your grace 

As never did subject to a king : 

" Sir Andrewes shipp I bring with mee ; 

A braver shipp was never none : 
Nowe hath your grace two shipps of warr, 155 

Before in England was but one." 
King Henryes grace with royall cheere 

Welcomed the noble Howard home, 
And where, said he, is this rover stout, 

That I myselfe may give the doome ? 160 

" The rover, he is safe, my leige, 

Full many a fadom in the sea ; 
If he were alive as he is dead, 

I must have left England many a day : 
And your grace may thank four men i' the ship 165 

For the victory wee have wonne, 
These are William Horseley, Henry Hunt, 

And Peter Simon, and his sonne." 



To Henry Hunt, the king then sayd, 

In lieu of what was from thee tane, 
A noble a day now thou shalt have, 

Sir Andrewes jewels and his chayne. 
And Horseley thou shalt be a knight, 

And lands and livings shalt have store ; 
Howard shall be Erie Surrye hight, 

As Howards erst have beene before. 

Nowe, Peter Simon, thou art old, 

I will maintaine thee and thy sonne : 
And the men shall have five hundred markes 

For the good service they have done. 
Then in came the queene with ladyes fair 

To see Sir Andrewe Barton knight ; 
They weend that hee were brought on shore, 

And thought to have seen a gallant sight. 



170 



175 



180 



185 



But when they see his deadlye face, 

And eyes soe hollow in his head, 
I wold give, quoth the king, a thousand markes, 

This man were alive as hee is dead : 
Yett for the manfull part hee playd, 

Which fought soe well with heart and hand, 190 
His men shall have twelvepence a day, 

Till they come to my brother kings high land. 



XIII. 



LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. 



A SCOTTISH SONG. 



The subject of this pathetic ballad the Editor once 
thought might possibly relate to the Earl of Both well, 
and his desertion of his wife Lady Jean Gordon, to 
mate room for his marriage with the Queen of Scots : 
But this opinion he now believes to be groundless ; 
indeed Earl Bothwell's age, who was upwards of 



sixty at the time of that marriage, renders it unlikely 
that he should be the object of so warm a passion as 
this elegy supposes. He has been since informed; 



Ver. 175, 6-.. Erie of Nottingham, And soe was nevei 
&c. MS. 



38 



THE MIRDER OF THE KING OF SCOTS. 



that it entirely refers to a private story . A young 
l;uiv of the name of Bothwell, or ratiier Boswell 

having been, together with her child, deserted by 

her husband or lover, composed these affecting lines 
herself; which here are given from a copy in the 
Editor's folio MS. corrected by another in Allan 
Ramsay's Miscellany. 

B.w.nw, my babe, lye still and sleipe! 

It grieves me sair to see thee weipe: 

If thoust be silent, Ise be glad, 

Thy maining maks my heart ful sad. 

Balow, my boy, thy mothers joy, 5 

Thy father breides me great annoy. 

J 5 alow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe, 
It grieves me sair to see thee weepe. 

"Whan he began to court my luve, 

And with his sugred wordes* to muve, 10 

J lis faynings fals, and flattering cheire 

To me that time did not appeire : 

But now I see, most cruell bee 

Cares neither for my babe nor mee. 

Balow-, Sec. 15 

Lye still, my darling, sleipe a while, 

And when thou wakest, sweitly smile: 

But smile not, as thy father did, 

To cozen maids : nay God forbid ! 

Bot. yett I feire, thou wilt gae neire 20 

Thy fatheris hart, and face to beire. 

Balow, &c. 



I cannae chuse, bu* ever will 
Be hiving to thy father still : 
Whair-eir he gae, whair-eir he ryde, 25 

My luve with him doth still abyde : 
In weil or wae, whair-eir he gae, 
Mine hart can neire depart him frae. 
Balow, &c. 

But doe not, doe not, prettie mine, 30 

To faynings fals thine hart incline ; 
Be loyal to thy luver trew, 
And nevir change her for a new : 
If gude or faire, of hir have care, 
For womens banning's wonderous sair 35 

Balow, &C 

Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane, 

Thy winsome smiles maun eise my paine ; 

My babe and I'll together live, 

He'll comfort me when cares doe grieve : 40 

My babe and I right saft will ly, 

And quite forgeit man's cruelty. 

Balow, &c. 

Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth, 

That evir kist a womans mouth ! 4 

I wish all maides be warnd by mee 

Nevir to trust mans curtesy ; 

For if we doe bot chance to bow, 

Tbey'le use us then they care not how. 

Balow, my babe, ly stil, and sleipe, 50 
It grives me sair to see thee weipe. 



XIV. 
THE MURDER OF THE KING OF SCOTS. 



The catastrophe of Henry Stewart, Lord Darnley, 
the unfortunate husband of Mary Queen of Scots, is 
the subject of this ballad. It is here related in that 
partial imperfect manner, in which such an event 
would naturally strike the subjects of another king- 
dom ; of which he was a native. Henry appears to 
have been a rain capricious worthless young man, 
of weak understanding, and dissolute morals. But 
the beauty of his person, and the inexperience of his 
youth, would dispose mankind to treat him with an 
indulgence, which the cruelty of his murder would 
afterwards convert into the most tender pity and 
regret : and then imagination would not fail to 
adorn his memory with all those virtues he ought to 
have possessed. This will account for the extrava- 
gant elogium bestowed upon him in the first stanza, 

Henry Lord Darnley was eldest son of the Earl of 
Lennox, by the Lad) Margaret Douglas, niece of 
Henry VIII. and daughter of Margaret Queen of 

Scotland hs the Karl of AngUS, W hoin that princess 
married after the death of James IV. — Darnlev, who 

• When mgar iras flrst imported Into Europe, it w.i- ■ 
very {real dalnt) ; and therefore tl <• epithet wigrtd I 
by ail our old hi mi « metaphortcall} t" express* Ktremeaod 
t'.i lleata sweetness. (8e< above, No. K\. v. 10.) Sugar ai 
present ii cheap and common J and therel n in estsnow.i 

coaise and vulgar Idea. 



had been born and educated in England, was but in 
his 21st year, when he was murdered, Feb. 9, 
1567-8. This crime was perpetrated by the Earl of 
Both well, not out of respect to the memory of Riccio, 
but in order to pave the way for his own marriage 
with the queen. 

This ballad, (printed, with a few corrections, from 
the Editor's folio MS.) seems to have been written 
soon after Mary's escape into England in 1568, see 
v. 65. — It will be remembered at v. 5, that this 
princess was Queen Dowager of France, having been 
lirst married to Francis 11. who died Dec. 4, 1560. 

Woe worth, woe worth thee, false Scotlande ! 

For thou hast ever wrought by sleight ; 
The worthyest prince that ever was borne, 

You hanged under a cloud by night 

The Queene of France a letter wrote, 5 

And sealed itt with harte and ringe ; 

And hade him come Scotland within, 

And slice wold marry and crowne him kinge. 



To br a king is a pleasant thing, 
To bee a prince unto a peere : 

But you have beard, and soe have I too, 
A man may well buy gold too deare 



:q 



A SONNET BY QUEEN ELIZABETH. 



139 



There was an Italyan in that place, 
Was as well beloved as ever was hee, 

Lord David was his name, 1 5 

Chamberlaine to the queene was hee. 

If the king had risen forth of his place, 

He wold have sate him downe in the cheare, 

And tho itt beseemed him not so well, 

Altho the kinge had beene present there. 20 

Some lords in Scotlande waxed wrothe, 
And quarrelled with him for the nonce ; 

I shall you tell how it befell, 

Twelve daggers were in him att once. 

When the queene saw her chamberlaine was slaine, 
For him her faire cheeks shee did weete, 26 

And made a vowe for a yeare and a day 

The king and shee wold not come in one sheete. 

Then some of the lords they waxed wrothe, 

And made their vow all vehementlye; 50 

For the death of the queenes chamberlaine, 
The king himselfe, how he shall dye. 

With gun-powder they strewed his roome, 
And layd greene rushes in his way : 

For the traitors thought that very night 35 

This worthye king for to betray. 

To bedd the king he made him bowne ; 

To take his rest was his desire ; 
He was noe sooner cast on sleepe, 

But his chamber was on a biasing fire. 40 



Up he lope, and the window brake, 

And hee had thirtye foote to fall ; 
Lord Bodwell kept a privy watch, 

Underneath his castle wall. 

Who have wee here 1 Lord Bodwell sayd : 45 
Now answer me, that I may know. 

" King Henry ihe eighth my uncle was ; 
For his sweete sake some pitty show." 

Who have we here? Lord Bodwell sayd, 

Now answer me when I doe speake. 50 

"Ah, Lord Bodwell, I know thee well ; 
Some pitty on me I pray thee take." 

lie pitty thee as much he sayd, 

And as much favor show to thee, 
As thou didst to the queenes chamberlaine, 5~) 

That day thou deemedst him to die*. 

Through halls and towers the king they ledd, 
Through towers and castles that were nye, 

Through an arbor into an orchard, 

There on a peare-tree hanged him hye. 60 

When the governor of Scotland heard 
How that the worthye king was slaine ; 

He persued the queen so bitterly e, 

That in Scotland shee dare not remaine. 



But shee is fledd into merry England, 
And here her residence hath taine ; 

And through the Queene of Englands grace, 
In England now shee doth remaine. 



65 



XV. 
A SONNET BY QUEEN ELIZABETH. 



The following lines, if they display no rich vein of 
poetry, are yet so strongly characteristic of their 
great and spirited authoress, that the insertion of 
them will be pardoned. They are preserved in Put- 
tenham's "Arte of English Poesie :" a book in which 
are many sly addresses to the queen's foible of shining 
as a poetess. The extraordinary manner in which 
these verses are introduced shews what kind of ho- 
mage was exacted from the courtly writers of that 
age, viz. 

" I find," says this antiquated critic " none exam- 
ple in English metre, so well maintaining this figure 
[ F.xargasia, or the Gorgeous, Lat. Expolitio] as that 
dittie of her maje ties owne making, passing sweete 
and harmonicall ; which figure beyng as his very 
originall name purporteth the most bewtifull and 
gorgious of all others, it asketh in reason to be re- 
served for a last complement, and desciphred by a 
ladies penne, herselfe beyng the most bewtifull, or 
rather bewtie of queenes*. And this was the occa- 
sion ; our soveraigne lady perceiving how the Scottish 
queenes residence within this realme at so great li- 
bertie and ease (as were skarce meete for so great 
and dangerous a prysoner) bred secret factions among 



Ver. 15, sic MS. 
She was at this time near three-score. 



her people, and made many of the nobilitie incline to 
favour her partie : some of them desirous of innova- 
tion in the state : others aspiring to greater fortunes 
by her libertie and life : the queene our soveraigne 
ladie, to declare that she was nothing ignorant of those 
secret practizes, though she had long with great wis- 
dome and pacience dissembled it, writeth this dittie 
most sweete and sententious, not hiding from all 
such aspiring minds the danger of their ambition 
and disloyaltie : which afterwards fell out most truly 
by th' exemplary chastisement of sundry persons, 
who in favour of the said Scot. Qu. declining from 
her majestie, sought to interrupt the quiet of the 
realme by many evill and undutifull practizes.'' 

This sonnet seems to have been composed in 1569, 
not long before the Duke of Norfolk, the Earls of 
Pembroke and Arundel, the Lord Lumley, Sir Nich. 
Throcmorton, and others, were taken into custody. 
See Hume, Rapin, &c. — It was originally written in 
long lines or alexandrines, each of which is here di- 
vided into two. 

The present edition is improved by some readings 
adopted from a copy printed in a collection from the 
papers of Sir John Harrington, intituled, " Nuga; 
Antiquae," Lond. 1769, l2mo. where the verses are 

* Pronounced after the northern manner dee. 



140 



KING OF SCOTS AND ANDREW BROWNE. 



accompanied with a very curious letter, in which this 
sonnet is said to be " Off her Highness own inditing' 
.... My Lady Willoughby did covertly get it on 
1 K r Majesties talilet, and had much hazzard in so 
doing ; for the Queen did find out the thief, and chid 
for her spreading evil bruit of her writing such toyes, 
when other matters did so occupy her employment 
at this time : and was fearful of being thought too 
lightly of for so doing." *•* 

The doubt of future foes 

Exiles my present joy; 
And wit me warnes to shun such snares, 

As threaten mine annoy. 

For falshood now doth flow, 5 

And subjects faith doth ebbe : 
Which would not be, if reason rul'd, 

Or wisdome wove the webbe. 

But clowdes of joyes untried 

Do cloake aspiring mindes ; 10 

Which turn to raine of late repent, 

By course of changed windes. 

The toppe of hope supposed 

The roote of ruthe will be ; 
And frutelesse all their graffed guiles, 15 

As shortly all shall see. 



Then dazeld eyes with pride, 
Which great ambition blindes, 

Shal be unseeld by worthy wights, 
Whose foresight falshood finds. 

The daughter of debate*, 

That discord ay doth sowe, 
Shal reape no gaine where former rule 

I lath taught stil peace to grovve. 

No forreine bannisht wight 

Shall ancre in this port ; 
Our realme it brookes no strangers force, 

Let them elsewhere resort. 

Our rusty sworde with rest 

Shall first his edge employ, 
To poll the toppes, that seeke such change, 

Or gape for such like joy. 



SO 



25 



80 



m 



tit I cannot help subjoining to the above sonnet 
another distich of Elizabeth's preserved by Putten- 
ham (p. 197.) " which (says he) our soveraigne lady 
wrote in defiance of fortune." 

Never thinke you, Fortune can beare the sway, 
Where Vertue's force can cause her to obay. 
The slightest effusion of such a mind deserves at- 
tention. 



XVI. 



KING OF SCOTS AND ANDREW BROWNE. 



This ballad is a proof of the little intercourse that 
subsisted between the Scots and English, before the 
accession of James I. to the crown of England. The 
tale which is here so circumstantially related does 
not appear to have had the least foundation in his- 
tory, but was probably built upon some confused 
hearsay report of the tumults in Scotland during the 
minority of that prince, and of the conspiracies 
formed by different factions to get possession of his 
person. It should seem from ver. 97 to have been 
written during the regency, or at least before the 
death, of the Earl of Morton, who was condemned 
and executed June 2, 1581 ; when James was in his 
fifteenth year. 

The original copy (preserved in the archives of 
the Antiquarian Society, London) is intitled, " A 
new Ballad, declaring the great treason conspired 
sgainsl the young king of Scots, and how one Andrew 
Drowse an English-man, which was the king's 
chamberlaine, prevented tin- same. To the tune of 

M illield, or els to ( i reen-sleeves." At the end is 
subjoined the name of the author, W. F.lderton. 

•• [mprinted at London for Yarathe James, dwelling 

in Newgate Market, over against Ch. Church," in 
black-letter folio. 

Thifl Klderton, who had been originally an attorney 
in the sheriff-* courts of London, and afterwards | it' 

we may believe Oldys) a comedian, was a facetious 

fuddling companion, whOM tippling and rhymes 

rendered him famous among bia contemporaries. He 

Vof. 1, dread, al. cd. V. 9, teven, a), id. 



was author of many popular son g3 and ballads ; 
and probably other pieces in this work, besides 
the following, are of his composing. He is believed 
to have fallen a victim to his bottle before the year 
1592. His epitaph has been recorded by Camden, 
and translated by Oldys. 

Hie situs est sitiens, atque ebrius Eldertonus, 
Quid dico hie situs est? hie potius sitis est. 

Dead drunk here Elderton doth lie ; 
Dead as he is, he still is dry : 
So of him it may well be said, 
Here he, but not his thirst, is laid. 

See Stow's Lond. [Guild-hall.] — Biogr. Brit. 
[" Drayton," by Oldys, Note B.] Ath. Ox.— Cam- 
den's Remains. — The Exale-tation of Ale, among 
Beaumont's Poems, 8vo. 1653. 
" Out alas!" what a griefe is this 

That princes subjects cannot be true, 
But still the devil! hath some of his, 

Will play their parts whatsoever ensue j 
Forgetting what a grievous thing 5 

It is to offend the anointed king? 
Alas for woe, why should it be SO, 
This makes a sorrowful heigh ho. 

In Scotland is a bonnie kinge, 

As proper a youth as neede to be, 10 

"Well given to eyery happy thing, 
That can be in a kinge to see: 

• She evidently means here the Queen of Scots. 



KING OF SCOTS AND ANDREW BROWNE. 



141 



Yet that unluckie country still, 
Hath people given to craftie will, 

Alas for woe, &c. 15 

On Whitsun eve it so hefell, 

A posset was made to give the king, 

Whereof his ladie nurse hard tell, 
And that it was a poysoned thing : 

She cryed, and called piteouslie ; 20 

Now help, or els the king shall die ! 
Alas for woe, &c. 

One Browne, that was an English man, 

And hard the ladies piteous crye, 
Out with his sword, and bestir'd him than, 25 

Out of the doores in haste to flie; 
But all the doores were made so fast, 
Out of a window he got at last. 
Alas, for woe, &c. 

He met the bishop coming fast, 30 

Having the posset in his hande : 
The sight of Browne made him aghast, 

Who had him stoutly staie and stand. 
With him were two that ranne awa, 
For feare that Browne would make a fray. 35 

Alas, for woe, &c. 

Bishop, quoth Browne, what hast thou there 1 

Nothing at all, my friend, sayde he ; 
But a posset to make the king good cheere. 

Is it so 1 sayd Browne, that will I see, 40 

First I will have thyself begin, 
Before thou go any further in ; 

Be it weale or woe, it shall be so, 
This makes a sorrowful heigh ho. 

The bishop sayde, Browne I doo know, 45 

Thou art a young man poore and bare ; 
Livings on thee I will bestowe : 

Let me go on, take thou no care. 
No, no, quoth Browne, I will not be 
A traitour for all Christian tie : 50 

Happe well or woe, it shall be so, 
Drink now with a sorrowfull, &c. 

The bishop dranke, and by and by 

His belly burst and he fell downe : 
A just rewarde for his traitery. 55 

This was a posset indeed, quoth Brown ! 
He serched the bishop, and found the keyes, 
To come to the kinge when he did please. 
Alas for woe, &c. 

As soon as the king got word of this, 60 

He humbly fell uppon his knee, 
And praysed God that he did misse, 

To tast of that extremity : 
For that he did perceive and know, 
His clergie would betray him so : 65 

Alas for woe, &c. 



Alas, he said, unhappie realme, 

My father, and grandfather slaine : 
My mother banished, O extreame ! 

Unhappy fate, and bitter bayne ! 70 

And now like treason wrought for me, 
What more unhappie realme can be ! 

Alas for woe, &c. 

The king did call his nurse to his grace, 

And gave her twenty poundes a yeere ; 75 

And trustie Browne too in like case, 

He knighted him with gallant geere : 
And gave him ' lands and livings great, 
For dooing such a manly feat, 

As he did showe, to the bishop's woe, 80 

Which made, &c. 

When all this treason done and past, 

Tooke not effect of traytery : 
Another treason at the last, 

They sought against his majestie : 85 

How they might make their kinge away, 
By a privie banket on a daye. 
Alas for woe, &c. 

' Another time' to sell the king 

Beyonde the seas they had decreede : 90 

Three noble Earles heard of this thing, 

And did prevent the same with speede. 
For a letter came, with such a charme, 
That they should doo their king no harme : 

For further woe, if they did soe, 95 

Would make a sorrowful heigh hoe. 

The Earle Mourton told the Douglas then, 
Take heede you do not offend the king ; 
But shew yourselves like honest men 

Obediently in every thing ; 1 00 

For his godmother * will not see 
Her noble child misus'd to be 

With any woe ; for if it be so, 
She will make, &c. 



God graunt all subjects may be true, 105 

In England, Scotland, every where : 
That no such daunger may ensue, 

To put the priDce or state in feare : 
That God the highest king may see 
Obedience as it ought to be, 110 

In wealth or woe, God graunt it be so 
To avoide the sorrowful heigh ho. 



Ver. 67". His father was Henry Lord Darnley. His 
grandfather the old Earl of Lenox, regent of Scotland, and 
father of Lord Darnley, was murdered at Stirling, Sept. 5, 
1571. 

* Queen Elizaheth. 



i vt 



YOUNG WATERS. 



XVII. 



THE BONNY EARL OF MURRAY. 



A SCOTTISH SONC. 



In December 1591, Francis Stewart, Earl of Both- 
well, had made an attempt to seize on the person of 
his sovereign James VI. hut being disappointed, had 
retired towards the north. The king unadvisedly 
gave a commission to George Gordon Earl of Hunt- 
ley, to pursue Bothwell and his followers with fire 
and sword. Huntley, under cover of executing that 
commission, took occasion to revenge a private quar- 
rel he had against James Stewart Earl of Murray, a 
relation of Bothwell's. In the night of Feb. 7, 1592, 
he beset Murray's house, burnt it to the ground, and 
slew Murray himself; a young nobleman of the most 
promising virtues, and the very darling of the people. 
See Robertson's History. 

The present Lord Murray hath now in his posses- 
sion a picture of his ancestor naked and covered with 
wounds, which had been carried about, according to 
ihe custom of that age, in order to inflame the popu- 
lace to revenge his death. If this picture did not 
flatter, he well deserved the name of the "Bonny 
Earl," for he is there represented as a tall and comely 
personage. It is a tradition in the family, that Gor- 
don of Bucky gave him a wound in the face : Murray 
half expiring, said, " you hae spilt a better face than 
your awin." Upon this, Bucky, pointing his dagger 
at Huntley's breast, swore, " You shall be as deep as 
I ; " and forced him to pierce the poor defenceless 
body. 

King James, who took no care to punish the mur- 
derers, is said by some to have privately counte- 
nanced and abetted them, being stimulated by jealousv 
for some indiscreet praises which his queen had too 
lavishly bestowed on this unfortunate youth. See 



the preface to the next ballad. See also Mr. Wal- 
pole's " Catalogue of Royal Authors," vol. I. p. 42. 

Ye highlands, and ye lawlands, 

Oh ! quhair hae ye been 1 
They hae slaine the Earl of Murray, 

And hae laid him on the green. 

Now wae be to thee, Huntley ! 5 

And quhairfore did you sae ! 
I bade you bring him wi' you, 

But forbade you him to slay 



He was a braw gallant, 

And he rid at the ring ; 
And the bonny Earl of Murray, 

Oh ! he might hae been a king. 

He was a braw gallant, 
And he played at the ba' ; 

And the bonny Earl of Murray 
Was the flower among them a'. 

He was a braw gallant, 

And he playd at the gluve ; 

And the bonny Earl of Murray, 
Oh ! he was the Queenes luve. 

Oh ! lang will his lady 

Luke owre the castle downe*, 
Ere she see the Earl of Murray 

Cum sounding: throw the towne. 



10 



15 



20 



XVIII. 

YOUNG WATERS. 

A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 



It has been suggested to the Editor, that this ballad 
covertly alludes to the indiscreet partiality, which 

Queen Anne of Denmark is said to have shewn for 
the "Bonny Earl Of Murray;" and which is sup- 
posed to hare influenced the fate* of that unhappy 
nobleman. Let the reader judge for himself. 

I he following account of the murder is given bya 
contemporary writer, and ;i person of credit, Sir James 

Balfour, knight, Lyon King of Anns, whose MS. of 

the Annals of Scotland is in the Advocate's Library 

at Edinburgh. 

" I he seventh of Fchry, this y.eite, L592, the Karle 
of Murray was cruelly murtliered l>\ the Karle of 
Huntley at his house in DunibriSSe] UQ I'vile-sln re, 
and with him Dunhar, sherille of Murray. It was 



given out and publicity talkt, that the Earle ot 
Huntley was only the instrument of perpetrating this 
facte, to satisfie the King's jealousie of Murray, 
quhum the Queene, more "rashly than wisely, some 
few days before had commendit in the King's hearing, 
with too many epithets of B proper and gallant man. 
The reasons of these surmises proceedit from a pro- 
clamatione of the Kings, the 13 of Marche following : 
inhibiteine the eoung Earle of Murray to persue the 
Earle of Huntley, tor his father's slaughter, in re- 
spect he being wardeit [imprisoned] in the castell of 
Blacknesse for the same murther, was willing to 



• Castle down.' here has hen thought to mean the Castle 
Of bow in-, a Miit belonging to the family of Murray. 



AJAKV ambree. 



143 

25 



abide a try all, averring that he had done nothing 
but by the King's majesties commissione ; and was 
neither airt nor part in the murther*." 

The following ballad is here given from a copy 
printed not long since at Glasgow, in one sheet 8vo. 
The world was indebted for its publication to the Lady 
Jean Hume, sister to the Earl of Hume, who died at 
Gibraltar. 

About Zule, quhen the wind blew cule, 

And the round tables began, 
A' ! there is cum to our kings court 

Mony a well-favourd man. 

The queen luikt owre the castle wa, 5 

Beheld baith dale and down, 
And then she saw zoung Waters 

Cum riding to the town. 

His footmen they did rin before, 

His horsemen rade behind, 10 

Ane mantel of the burning gowd 

Did keip him frae the wind. 

Gowden graith'd his horse before 

And siller shod behind, 
The horse zong Waters rade upon 45 

Was fleeter than the wind. 

But than spake a wylie lord, 

Unto the queen said he, 
O tell me qhua's the fairest face 

Rides in the company. 20 

I've sene lord, and I've sene laird, 

And knights of high degree ; 
Bot a fairer face than zoung Waters 

Mine evne did never see. 



30 



35 



Out then spack the jealous king, 

(And an angry man was he) 
O, if he had been twice as fair, 

Zou micht have excepted me. 

Zou're neither laird nor lord, she says, 
Bot the king that wears the crown ; 

Theris not a knight in fair Scotland 
Bot to thee maun bow down. 

For a' that she could do or say, 

Appeasd he wad nae bee ; 
Bot for the words which she had said 

Zoung Waters he maun dee. 

They hae taen zoung Waters, and 

Put fetters to his feet ; 
They hae taen zoung Waters, and 

Thrown him in dungeon deep. 40 

Aft I have ridden thro' Stirling town 

In the wind both and the weit ; 
Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town 

Wi fetters at my feet. 

Aft have I ridden thro' Stirling town 45 

In the wind both and the rain ; 
Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town 

N^ir to return again. 

They hae tean to the heiding-hill * 

His zoung son in his craddle, 50 

And they hae taen to the heiding-hill, 

His horse both and his saddle. 

They hae taen to the heiding-hill 

His lady fair to see. 
And for the words the queen had spoke 55 

Zoung; Waters he did dee. 



XIX. 



MARY AMBREE. 



In the year 1584, the Spaniards, under the com- 
mand of Alexander Farnese prince of Parma, began 
to gain great advantages in Flanders and Brabant, by 
recovering many strong holds and cities from the 
Hollanders, as Ghent, (called then by the English 
Gaunt,) Antwerp, Mechlin, &c. See Stow's Annals, 
p. 711. Some attempt made with the assistance of 
English volunteers to retrieve the former of those 
places probably gave occasion to this ballad. I can 
find no mention of our heroine in history, but the 
following rhymes rendered her famous among our 
poets. Ben Jonson often mentions her, and calls 
any remarkable virago by her name. See his Epi- 
caene, first acted in 1609, Act 4, sc. 2. His Tale of 
a Tub, Act 1, sc. 4. And his masque intitled the 
Fortunate Isles, 1626, where he quotes the very 
words of the ballad, 

Maky Ambhee, 

( Who marched so free 



* This extract is copied from the Critical Review. 



To the siege of Gaunt, 
And death could not daunt, 
As the ballad doth vaunt) 
Were a braver wight, &c. 

She is also mentioned in Fletcher's Scornful Lady, 
Act 5, subjinem. 

« — " My large gentlewoman, my " Mary Ambree," 
had I but seen into you, you should have had another 
bedfellow." 

It is likewise evident that she is the virago in- 
tended by Butler in Hudibras (P. 1. c. 3, v. 365.), 
by her being coupled with John cT Arc, the celebrated 
Pucelle de Orleans. 

A bold virago stout and tall 

As Joan of France, or English Mall. 

This ballad is printed from a black-letter copy in 
the Pepys Collection, improved from the Editor's 



* Heiding-hill ; i. e. heading [beheading] hill. The place 
of execution was anciently an artificial hillock. 



1+4 



MARY AMBKKK. 



folio BIS. ind by conjecture. The full title is 
•• rhe ralourous acts perfonned at Gaunt by the 

brave bonnie lass Mary Ambree, who in revenge of 
ber lovers death did play ber part most gallantly. 
The tune is, The blind beggar, l\c." 

When captaines couragious, whom deatb cold not 

daunte. 
Did march to tbe siege of tbe citty of Gaunt, 
They mustred tbeir souldiers by two and by tbree, 
And tbe forniost in battle was Mary Ambree. 

Wben brave Sir Jobn Major* was slaine in ber 
sigbt, 5 

Who was ber true lover, ber joy, and delight, 
Because be was slaine most treacberouslie, 
Tben vowd to revenge bim Mary Ambree. 

She clothed herselfe from the top to the toe 
In buffe of the bravest, most seemelye to showe ; 10 
A faire shirt of male t tben slipped on shee ; t 
Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree ? 

A helmett of proofe shee strait did provide, 
A strong arminge sword shee girt by her side, 
On her hand a goodly faire gauntlett put shee ; 15 
Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree 1 

Then tooke shee her sworde and her targett in hand, 
Bidding all such, as wold, bee of her band ; 
To wayte on her person came thousand and three : 
Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree ? 20 

My soldiers, she saith, soe valliant and bold, 
Nowe follow e your captaine, whom you doe beholde ; 
Still formost in battell myselfe will I bee : 
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree 1 

Then cryed out her souldiers and loude they did 
say, 25 

Soe we'll thou becomest this gallant array, 
Thy harte and thy weapons so well do agree, 
There was none ever like Mary Ambree. 

Shee cheared her souldiers, that foughten for life, 
With ancyent and standard, with drum and with 
fife, 31 

With brave clanging trumpetts, that sounded so free; 
\\ a^ not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree ? 

Before I will see the worst of you all 

To come into danger of death, or of thrall, 

This hand and this life I will venture so free : 35 
Was not thifl B brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree ? 



• So M.S. Serjeant M-<i<» in PC. 

I \ pecnlUi kui'i oi armour, composed <>f small rings of 
iron, tod won nnder the clothe*, it li mentioned t>y 
Bpencer, who -|>'.ik* <>f the [rich Gallowglau or Foot- 
loldli i i« '• armed In a long Shin of Mayi." (View of the 
Bute -I Ireland.) 



Shee ledd upp ber souldiers in battaile array, 
Gainst tbree times tbeyr number by breake of the 

daye ; 
Seven bowers in skirmish continued shee : 
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree? 40 

She filled tbe skves with the smoke of her shott, 
And her enemyes bodyes with bullets so hott ; 
For one of her owne men a score killed shee : 
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree ? 

Ami when her false gunner, to spoyle her intent, 4-*> 
Away all her pellets and powder had sent, [three : 
Straight with her keen weapon shee slasbt him in 
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree? 

Being falselye betrayed for lucre of byre, 
At length she was forced to make a retvre ; 50 

Tben her souldiers into a strong castle drew shee : 
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree '{ 

Her foes they besett her on every e side, 

As thinking close siege shee cold never abide ; 

To beate down the wa!les they all did decree : 55 

But stoutlye deftyd them brave Mary Ambree. 

Then tooke shee her sword and her targett in hand, 
And mounting the walls all undaunted did stand, 
There daring their captaines to match any three : 

what a brave captaine was Mary Ambree ! 60 

Now saye, English captaine, what woldest thou give 
To ransome thy selfe, which else must not live ? 
Come yield thy selfe quicklve, or slaine thou must bee, 
Then smiled sweetlye brave Mary Ambree. 

Ye captaines couragious, of valour so bold, 65 

Whom thinke you before you now vou doe behold ? 
A knight, sir, of England, and captaine soe free, 
Who shortleye with us a prisoner must bee. 

No, captaine of England ; behold in your sigbt 
Two brests in my bosome, and therfore no knight : 7 
Noe knight, sirs, of England, nor captaine you see, 
But a poor simple lass called Mary Ambree. 

But art thou a woman, as thou dost declare, 
Whose valor hath proved so undaunted in warre ? 
If England doth yield such brave lasses as thee, 75 
Full well may they conquer, faire Mary Ambree. 

The prince of Great Parma heard of her renowno 
Who long had advanced for England's faire crowne; 

1 lee wooed her, and sued ber his mistress to bee, 
And ofterd rich presents to Mary Ambree. 80 

But this virtuous mavden despised them all, 
He nere sell my honour for purple nor pall : 
A mayden of England, sir, never will bee 
The whore of a monarcke, quoth Mary Ambree. 

Then to her owne country shee backe did returne, 85 
Still holding the foes of faire England in BCOrne : 

Therfore English captaines of every degree 

Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Ambree. 



BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBEY. 



145 



XX. 
BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBEY. 



Peregrine Bertie, Lord Willoughby of Eresby had, 
m the year 1586, distinguished himself at the siege 
of Zutphen, in the Low Countries. He was the 
year after, made general of the English forces in the 
United Provinces, in room of the Earl of Leicester, 
who was recalled. This gave him an opportunity of 
signalizing his courage and military skill in several 
actions against the Spaniards. One of these, greatly 
exaggerated by popular report, is probably the sub- 
ject of this old ballad, which, on account of its flat- 
tering encomiums on English valour, hath always 
been a favourite with the people. 

" My Lord Willoughbie (says a contemporary 
writer) was one of the queenes best swordsmen : 
... .he was a great master of the art military. . . .1 
have heard it spoken, that had he not slighted the 
court, but applied himselfe to the queene, he might 
have enjoyed a plentifull portion of her grace ; and 
it was his saving, and it did him no good, that he 
was none of the Reptilia ; intimating, that he could 
not creepe on the ground, and that the court was 
not his element ; for, indeed, as he was a great soul- 
dier, so he was of suitable magnanimitie, and could 
not brooke the obsequiousnesse and assiduitie of the 
court."— ( Naunton.) 

Lord Willoughbie died in 1601. — Both Norris 
and Turner were famous among the military men of 
that age. 

The subject of this ballad (which is printed from 
an old black-letter copy, with some conjectural 
emendations,) may possibly receive illustration from 
what Chapman says in the dedication to his version 
of Homer's Frogs and Mice, concerning the brave 
and memorable retreat of Sir John Norris, with 
only 1000 men, through the whole Spanish army, 
under the Duke of Parma, for three miles together. 

The fifteenth day of July, 

With glistering spear and shield, 
A famous fight in Flanders 

Was foughten in the field : 
The most couragious officers 5 

Were English captains three ; 
But the bravest man in battel 

Was brave Lord Willoughbey. 

The next was Captain Norris, 

A valiant man was hee : 1 

The other Captain Turner, 

From field would never flee. 
With fifteen hundred fighting men, 

Alas ! there were no more, 
They fought with fourteen thousand then, 15 

Upon the bloody shore. 

Stand to it noble pikemen, 

And look you round about : 
And shoot you right you bow -men, 

And we will keep them out : 20 

You musquet and calivermen, 

Do you prove true to me, 
I'le be the formost man in fight, 

Says brave Lord Willoughbey. 



And then the bloody enemy 25 

They fiercely did assail, 
And fought it out most furiously, 

Not doubting to prevail : 
The wounded men on both sides fell 

Most pitious for to see, 30 

Yet nothing could the courage quell 

Of brave Lord Willoughbey. 

For seven hours, to all men's view, 

This fight endured sore, 
Until our men so feeble grew 35 

That they could fight no more ; 
And then upon dead horses, 

Full savourly they eat, 
And drank the puddle water, 

They could no better get. 40 

When they had fed so freely, 

They kneeled on the ground, 
And praised God devoutly 

For the favour they had found ; 
And beating up their colours, 45 

The fight they did renew, 
And turning tow'rds the Spaniard, 

A thousand more they slew. 

The sharp steel-pointed arrows, 

And bullets thick did fly ; 50 

Then did our valiant soldiers 

Charge on most furiously ; 
Which made the Spaniards waver, 

They thought it best to flee, 
They fear'd the stout behaviour 55 

Of brave Lord Willoughbey. 

Then quoth the Spanish general, 

Come let us march away, 
I fear we shall be spoiled all 

If here we longer stay ; 60 

For yonder comes Lord Willoughbey 

With courage fierce and fell, 
He will not give one inch of way 

For all the devils in hell. 

And then the fearful enemy 65 

Was quickly put to flight, 
Our men persued couragiously, 

And caught their forces quite ; 
But at last they gave a shout, 

Which ecchoed through the sky, 70 

God, and St. George for England ! 

The conquerers did cry. 

This news was brought to England 

With all the speed might be, 
And soon our gracious queen was told 75 

Of this same victory. 
O this is brave Lord Willoughbey, 

My love that ever won, 
Of all the lords of honour 

'Tis he great deeds hath done. 80 



116 



THE WINNING OF CALES. 



To the souldiers that were maimed, 

And wounded in the fray, 
The queen allowed a pension 

Of fifteen pence a day ; 
And Pram all costs and charges 

She quit and set them free : 
And this she did all for the sake 

Ot'hrave Lord Willoughbey. 



P5 



Then courage, nohle Englishmen, 

And never be dismaid ; 
If that we be but one to ten, 

We will not be afraid 
To fight with foraign enemies, 

And set our nation free. 
And thus 1 end the bloody bout 

Of brave Lord Willoughbey. 



90 



95 



XXI. 

VICTORIOUS MEN OF EARTH. 



This little moral sonnet hath such a pointed appli- 
cation to the heroes of the foregoing and following 
ballads, that I cannot help placing it here, though 
the date of its composition is of a much later period. 
It is extracted from " Cupid and Death, a masque 
by J. S. [James Shirley] presented Mar. 26, 1653. 
London, printed 1653," 4to. 

A'ictoiuous men of earth, no more 

Proclaim how wide your empires are : 

Though you binde in every shore, 
And your triumphs reach as far 



As night or day ; 
Yet you proud monarchs must obey, 
And mingle with forgotten ashes, when 
Death calls yee to the croud of common men. 

Devouring famine, plague, and war, 

Each able to undo mankind, 
Death's servile emissaries are : 

Nor to these alone confin'd, 

He hath at will 

More quaint and subtle waves to kill ; 
A smile or kiss, as he will use the art, 
Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart. 



10 



15 



XXII 



THE WINNING OF CALES 



The subject of this ballad is the taking of the city 
of Cadiz, (called by our sailors corruptly Cales) on 
June 21, 1596, in a descent made on the coast of 
Spain, under the command of the Lord Howard 
admiral, and the Earl of Essex general. 

1 he valour of Essex was not more distinguished 
on this occasion than his generosity: the town was 
carried sword in hand, but he stopt the slaughter as 
soon as possible, and treated his prisoners with the 
greatest humanity, and even affability and kindness. 
The English made a rich plunder in the city, but 
missed of a much richer, by the resolution which the 
Duke of Medina the Spanish admiral took, of setting 
fire to the ships, in order to prevent their falling 
into the hands of the enemy. It was computed, that 
the loss which the Spaniards sustained from this 
enterprise, amounted to twenty millions of ducats. 
Bee 1 1 nine's 1 listory. 

The Earl of Esses knighted on this occasion not 
fewer than sixtv persons, which gave rise to the fol- 
lowing sarcasm : 

A gentleman of Wales, a knight of ('ales, 

And ;i laird of the North country ; 

But a yeoman of Kent with his yearly rent 
Will buy them out all three. 

The ballad is printed, with some corrections, from 
I litor'a folio MS. and seems to hare been com- 
posed l>\ some person, who wa> concerned in the 
expedition. Most of the circumstances related in it 

will be found supported by history. 



Loxg the proud Spaniards had vaunted to conquer us, 

Threatning our country with fyer and sword ; 
Often preparing their navv most sumptuous 
With as great plenty as Spain could afford. 

Dub a dub, dub a dub, thus strike their drums : 
Tantara, tantara, the Englishman comes. 6 

To the seas presentlye went our lord admiral, 

With knights courageous and captains full good ; 

The brave Earl of Essex, a prosperous general, 
With him prepared to pass the salt flood. 10 

Dub a dub, &c. 

At Plymouth speedilye, took they ship valiantlye, 

Braver ships never were seen under sayla 
With their fair colours spread, and streamers ore 
their head, 
Now bragging Spaniards, take heed of your tayle, 
Dub a dub, StC 16 

Into Cales cunninglve, came we most speedilye, 
Where the kinges navy Becurelye did ryde ; 

Being upon their backs, piercing their hutts of sacks, 
Lie any Spaniards our coming descryde. 20 

Dub a duh, 8CC. 

Great was the crying, the running and ryding, 
Which at that season w as made in that place ; 

The beacons were fyred, as need then required; 
To byde their great treasure they had little space. 

Dub a duh, ,\c. 25 



THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE. 



14? 



There you might see their ships, how they were 
fyred fast, 
And how their men drowned themselves in the sea ; 
There might you hear them cry, wayle and weep 
piteously, 
When they saw no shift to scape thence away. 30 
Dub a dub, &c. 

The great St. Phillip, the pryde of the Spaniards, 
Was burnt to the bottom, and sunk in the sea ; 

But the St. Andrew, and eke the St. Matthew, 
We took in fight manfullye and brought away. 35 
Dub a dub, &c. 

The Earl of Essex most valiant and hardye, [town ; 

With horsemen and footmen marched up to the 

The Spaniards, which saw them, were greatly 

alarmed, [down. 40 

Did fly for their savegard, and durst not come 

Dub a dub, &c. 

Now, quoth the noble Earl, courage my soldiers all, 
Fight and be valiant, the spoil you shall have ; 

And be well rewarded all from the great to the small ; 

But looke that the women and children you save. 

Dub a dub, &c. 46 

The Spaniards at that sight, thinking it vain to fight, 
Hung upp flags of truce and yielded the towne ; 



Wee marched in presentlye, decking the walls on Five. 
With English colours which purchased renowne. 
Dub a dub, &c. 51 

Entering the houses then, of the most richest men, 
For gold and treasure we searched eche day ; 

In some places we did find, pyes baking left behind, 
Meate at fire rosting, and folkes run away. 55 
Dub a dub, &c. 

Full of rich merchandize, every shop catched our eyes. 

Damasks and sattens and velvets full fayre ; 
Which soldiers measur'd out by the length of their 
swords ; 
Of all commodities eche had a share. 60 

Dub a dub, &c. 

Thus Cales was taken, and our brave general 

March'd to the market-place, where he did stand : 

There many prisoners fell to our several shares, 
Many crav'd mercy e, and mercy e they fannd. 65 
Dub a dub, &c. 

When our brave General saw they delayed all, 

And wold not ransome their towne as they said, 
With their fair wanscots, their presses and bedsteds, 
Their joint- stools and tables a fire we made ; 70 
And when the town burned all in flame, 
With tara, tantara, away wee all came. 



XX1TI. 



THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE. 



This beautiful old ballad most probably took its 
rise from one of these descents made on the Spanish 
coasts in the time of Queen Elizabeth ; and in all 
likelihood from that which is celebrated in the fore- 
going ballad. 

It was a tradition in the West of England, that 
the person admired by the Spanish lady was a gen- 
tleman of the Popham family, and that her picture, 
with the pearl necklace mentioned in the ballad, was 
not many years ago preserved at Littlecot, near 
Hungerford, Wilts, the seat of that respectable 
family. 

Another tradition hath pointed out Sir Richard 
Levison, of Trentham, in Staffordshire, as the sub- 
ject of this ballad ; who married Margaret daughter 
of Charles Earl of Nottingham ; and was eminently 
distinguished as a naval officer and commander in 
all the expeditions against the Spaniards in the latter 
end of Queen Elizabeth's reign, particularly in that 
to Cadiz in 1596, when he was aged 27. He died 
in 1605, and has a monument, with his effigy in 
brass, in Wolverhampton church. 

It is printed from an ancient back letter copy, 
corrected in part by the Editor's folio MS. 

Will you hear a Spanish lady, 

How shee wooed an English man ? 
Garments gay as rich as may be 

Decked with jewels she had on. 
Of a comely countenance and grace was she, 5 

And by birth and parentage of high degree. 



As his prisoner there he kept her, 

In his hands her life did lye ; 
Cupid's bands did tye them faster 

By the liking of an eye. 10 

In his courteous company was all her joy, 
To favour him in any thing she was not cov. 

But at last there came commandment 

For to set the ladies free, 
With their jewels still adorned, 15 

None to do them injury. 
Then said this lady mild, Full woe is me ; 
O let me still sustain this kind captivity ! 

Gallant captain, shew some pity 

To a ladye in distresse ; 
Leave me not within this city, 

For to dye in heavinesse : 
Thou hast set this present day my body free, 
But my heart in prison still remains with thee. 

" How should'st thou, fair lady, love me. 25 

Whom thou knowst thy country's foe 1 

Thy fair wordes make me suspect thee : 
Serpents lie where flowers grow." 

All the harm I wishe to thee, most courteous knight, 

God grant the same upon my head may fully light. 30 

Blessed be the time and season, 

That you came on Spanish ground ; 
If our foes you may be termed, 

Gentle foes we have you found : 

l 2 



118 



ARGENTILE AND CURAN. 



With our city, you have won our hearts eche one, 35 
Then to your country bear away, that is your owne. 

" Real vou still, most gallant lady; 

!!• si vou still, and weep no more ; 
Of lair Lovers there is plenty, 

Spain doth yield a wonderous store." 40 

Spaniards fraught with jealousy we often find, 
But Englishmen through all the world are counted 
kind. 



45 



50 



Leave me not unto a Spaniard, 

You alone enjoy my heart ; 
I am lovelv, young, and tender, 

Love is likewise my desert : 
Still to serve thee day and night my mind is prest 
The wife of every Englishman is counted blest. 

" It wold be a shame, fair lady, 

For to bear a woman hence ; 
English soldiers never carry 

Any such without offence." 
I'll quickly change myself, if it be so, 
And like a page He follow thee, where'er thou go. 

" I have neither gold nor silver 55 

To maintain thee in this case, 
And to travel is great charges, 

As you know in every place." 
My chains and jewels every one shal be thy own, 
And eke five hundred* pounds in gold that lies 
unknown. 60 

" On the seas are many dangers, 

Many storms do there arise, 
Which wil be to ladies dreadful, 

And force tears from watery eyes." 
Well in troth I shall endure extremity, 65 

For I could find in heart to lose my life for thee. 



" Courteous ladye, leave this fancy 
Here comes all that breeds the strife ; 

I in England have already 

A sweet woman to my wife : 70 

I will not falsify my vow for gold nor gain, 

Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in Spain." 



O how happy is that woman 

That enjoys so true a friend ! 
Many happy days God send her ; 

Of my suit I make an end : 
On my knees I pardon crave for my offence, 
Which did from love and true affection first 



Commend me to thy lovely lady, 

Bear to her this chain of gold ; 
And these bracelets for a token ; 

Grieving that I was so bold : 
All my jewels in like sort take thou with thee, 
For they are fitting for thy wife, but not for me. 



75 



80 



95 



I will spend my days in prayer, 

Love and all her laws defye ; 
In a nunnery will I shroud mee 

Far from any companye : 
But ere my prayers have an end, be sure of this, 
To pray for thee and for thy love I will not miss. 90 



Thus farewell most gallant captain ! 

Farewell too my heart's content ! 
Count not Spanish ladies wanton, 

Though to thee my love was bent : 
Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee ! 95 

" The like fall ever to thy share, most fair ladie." 



XXIV. 
ARGENTILE AND CURAN. 



— Is extracted from an ancient historical poem in 
XIII. Books, intitled, "Albion's England, by William 
Warner :" " An author (says a former Editor) only 
unhappy in the choice of his subject, and measure of 
bis verse. His poem is an epitome of the British 
history, and written with great learning, sense, and 
spirit; in some places fine to an extraordinary de- 
u I think will eminently appear in the ensuing 
episode [of Argentile and Curan,] — a tale full of 

beautiful incidents in the romantic taste, extremely 

affecting, rich in ornament, wonderfully various in 

.style ; and in short, one of the most beautiful pastO- 
ralfl I ever met Willi." [ Muses lihrarv, 1738, Hvo.] 

To hu n mi nothing can be objected, unless perhaps 

an affected quaintness in some of Ins expressions, 

and an indelicacy in some of his pastoral images. 

Warner i> rid, bj \. Woodf, to have been a 

Warwickshire man, and to have heen educated in 

Oxford, at Magdalene-hall: as also.in the Latter part 

of his life to have heen retained in the service of 

\ . ,. 65, \\ I H in worth, MS. 
• So the MS.— 10,000/. PC. t Athen. Orr . 



Henry Cary Lord Hunsdon, to whom he dedicates 
his poem. However that may have been, new light 
is thrown upon his history, and the time and manner 
of his death are now ascertained, by the following 
extract from the parish register book of Amwell, in 
Hertfordshire ; which was obligingly communicated 
to the editor by Mr. Hoole, the very ingenious trans- 
lator of Tasso, &c. 

[1608 — 1609.] " Master William Warner, a man 
of good yeares and of honest reputation ; by his pro- 
fession an Atturnyo of the Common Pleas ; author 
of Albions England, divnge suddenly in the night in 
his bedde, without any former complavnt orsicknesse, 
on thursday night beeinge the 9th dave of March ; 
was buried the satturday following, and lyeth in the 
church at the corner under the stone of Walter 
l'l'ader." Signed '1 ho. 1 lassall \ icarius. 

Though now Warner is so seldom mentioned, his 
Contemporaries ranked him on a level with Spenser, 
and called them the Homer and Virgil of their age* 

\ . i. s<i. S,, ilu- folio MS. Oilier editions read his laws. 
• Allien. Oxon. 



ARG ENTILE AND CURAN. 



liy 



But Warner rather resembled Ovid, whose Meta- 
morphosis he seems to have taken for his model, 
having deduced a perpetual poem from the deluge 
down to the era of Elizabeth, full of lively digressions 
and entertaining episodes. And though he is some- 
times harsh, affected, and obscure, he often displays 
a most charming and pathetic simplicity : as where 
he describes Eleanor's harsh treatment of Rosa- 
mond : 

With that she dasht her on the lippes 

So dyed double red : 
Hard was the heart that gave the blow, 

Soft were those lippes that bled. 

The edition of "Albion's England" here followed 
was printed in 4to, 1602 ; said in the title-page to 
have been " first penned and published by William 
Warner, and now revised and newly enlarged by the 
same author." The story of " Argentile and Curan" 
is, I believe, the poet's own invention ; it is not men- 
tioned in any of our chronicles. It was, however, 
so much admired, that not many years after he pub- 
lished it, came out a larger poem on the same subject 
in stanzas of six lines, intitled, " The most pleasant 
and delightful historie of Curan a prince of Danske, 
and the fayre princesse Argentile, daughter and heyre 
to Adelbright, sometime Kingof Northumberland,&c. 
by William Webster, London 1617," in eight sheets 
4to. An indifferent paraphrase of the following poem. 
— This episode of Warner's has also been altered into 
the common Ballad, " of the two young Princes on 
Salisbury Plain," which is chiefly composed of War- 
ner's lines, with a few contractions and interpolations, 
but all greatly for the worse. See the collection of 
Historical Ballads, 1727, 3 vols. 12mo. 

Though here subdivided into stanzas, Warner's 
metre is the old-fashioned alexandrine of fourteen 
syllables. The reader therefore must not expect 
to find the close of the stanzas consulted in the 
pauses. 

The Bruton's 'being' departed hence 

Seaven kingdoms here begonne, 
Where diversly in divers broyles 

The Saxons lost and wonne, 

King Edel and King Adelbright 5 

In Diria jointly raigne ; 
In loyal Concorde during life 

These kingly friends remaine. 



When Adelbright should leave his life, 

To Edel thus he sayes , 
By those same bonds of happie love, 

That held us friends alwaies ; 

By our by-parted crowne, of which 

The moyetie is mine ; 
By God, to whom my soule must passe, 

And so in time may thine ; 

I pray thee, nay I conjure thee, 

To nourish, as thine owne, 
Thy niece, my daughter Argentile, 

Till she to age be growne ; 
And then, as thou receivest it, 

Resigne to her my throne. 

A promise had foi his bequest, 

The testator he dies ; 
But all that Edel undertooke, 

He afterwards denies. 



10 



15 



20 



25 



Yet well he ' fosters for' a time 

The damsell that was growne 
The fairest lady under heaven ; 

Whose beautie being knowne, 39 

A many princes seeke her love ; 

But none might her obtaine ; 
For grippell Edel to himselfe 

Her kingdome sought to gaine ; 
And for that cause from sight of such 35 

He did his ward restraine. 

By chance one Curan, sonne unto 

A prince in Danske, did see 
The maid, with whom he fell in love, 

As much as man mi°ht bee. 40 



Unhappie youth, what should he doe? 

His saint was kept in mewe ; 
Nor he, nor any noble-man 

Admitted to her vewe. 



One while in melancholy fits 45 

He pines himselfe awaye : 
Anon he thought by force of aims 

To win her if he maye : 

And still against the kings restraint 

Did secretly invay. 50 

At length the high controller Love, 

Whom none may disobay, 

Imbased him from lordlines 

Into a kitchen drudge, 
That so at least of life or death 55 

She might become his judge. 

Accesse so had to see and speake, 

He did his love bewray, 
And tells his birth : her answer was, 

She husbandles would stay. 60 

Meane while the king did beate his braines, 

His booty to atchieve, 
Nor caring what became of her, 

So he by her might thrive ; 
At last his resolution was 65 

Some pessant should her wive. 

And (which was working to his wish) 

He did observe with joye 
How Curan, whom he thought a drudge, 

Scapt many an amorous toye *. 70 

The king, perceiving such his veine, 

Promotes his vassal still, 
Lest that the basenesse of the man 

Should lett, perhaps, his will. 

Assured therefore of his love, 75 

But not suspecting who 
The lover was, the king himselfe 

In his behalf did woe. 



* The construction is, "How that many an amorous toy, 
o« fooleiy of love, 'scaped Curan ;" i. e.escaped from him, 
being oft his guard. 



150 ARGENTILE 


AND CURAN. 


133 


The lady resolute from love, 


His lardrie) and in ' yeaning' see 


Unkindly takes that be 80 


" Yon crumpling ewe, quoth he, 




Should barre the noble, and unto 


Did twinne this fall, and twin shouldst thou, 




So hase a match agree : 


If I might tup with thee. 




And therefore shifting out of doores. 


" Thou art too elvish, faith thou art, 




Departed thence bv stealth ; 


Too elvish and too coy : 


140 


Preferring povertie before B5 


Am I, I pray thee, beggarly, 




A dangerous life in wealth. 


That such a flocke enjoy ? 




When Curan heard of her escape, 


" I wis I am not : yet that thou 




The anguish in his hart 
Was more than much, and after her 

From court he did depart ; 90 


Doest hold me in disdaine 
Is brimme abroad, and made a gybe 
To all that keepe this plaine. 


143 


Forgetfull of himselfe, his birth, 






His country, friends, and all, 


" There be as quaint (at least that thiuke 




And only minding (whom he mist) 
The foundresse of his thrall. 


Themselves as quaint) that crave 




The match, that thou, I wot not whv, 






Maist, but mislik'st to have 


130 


Nor meanes he after to frequent 95 






Or court, or stately townes, 


" How wouldst thou match ? (for well I wot 




But solitarily to live 


" Thou art a female) I, 




Amongst the country grownes 


Her know not here that willingly 
With maiden-head would die. 




A brace of years he lived thus, 






Well pleased so to live, 100 


" The plowmans labour hath no end 
And he a churle will prove : 


133 


And shepherd-like to feed a flocke 




Himselfe did wholly give. 


The craftsman hath more worke in hand 




So wasting, love, by worke, and want, 


Then fitteth unto love : 




Grew almost to the waine : 
But then began a second love, 10.5 
The worser of the twaine 


" The merchant, traffiquing abroad, 

Suspects his wife at home : 
A youth will play the wanton ; and 


160 


A country wench, a neatherds maid, 


An old man prove a mome. 




Where Curan kept his sheepe, 
Did feed her drove : and now on her 






" Then chuse a shepheard : with the sun 




Was all the shepherds keepe. 110 


He doth his flocke unfold, 
And all the day on hill or plaine 


165 


He borrowed on the working daies 


He merrie chat can hold : 




His holy russets oft, 






And of the bacon's fat, to make 


" And with the sun doth folde againe ; 




His startops blacke and soft. 


Then jogging home betime, 
He turnes a crab, or turnes a round, 




And least his tarbox should offend, 1 15 


Or sings some merry ryme. 


170 ; 


He left it at the folde . 






Sweete growte, or wig, his bottle had, 


" Nor lacks he gleefull tales, whilst round 




As much as it might holde. 


The nut-brown bowl doth trot ; 
And sitteth singing care awav. 




A sheeve of bread as browne as nut 


Till he to bed be got : 




And cheese as white as snow, 1 'JO 




And wildings, or the seasons fruit 


" Theare sleepes he soundly all the night, 


175 | 


He did in scrip bestow. 


Forgetting morrow-cares : 
Nor feares he blasting of his come, 




And whilst his pv-bald curro did sleepe, 


Nor uttering of his wares ; 




And sheep-hooke lay him by, 






On hollow quilles of oten straw 125 


" Or stormes by seas, or stirres on land, 




He piped melody. 


Or cracke of credit lost : 


180 


Bui when he ipyed her his saint, 


Not spending franklier than his flocke 
Shall still defray the cost. 




He wi|i'il his greasie shooes, 






And cleerd the drivel] from his beard, 


" Well wot T, sooth they say, that say 
MOTO quiet nights and and daies 


| 


And thus the ihepheard wooes. 130 






The shepheard sleeps and wakes, than he 
W hose oattel he doth graize. 


185 


" I have, sweet wench, 1 pppce of cheese, 




As good as tooth may chawe, 
And bread and wildings touting well, 








And therewithal! did drawe. 


\ , i. 185, Bating PCC. V. 153, Her know I not her that, 




1009. V. 100, i. e. roasta a crab, <>r apple. V. 171 to tell, , 


• Ver. 119, i. e. Iiolv day RllMetf. 


whibl round the hole doth trot. Ed. 1507. 


1 

1 



ARG ENTILE AND CUR AN. 



151 



" Beleeve me, lasse, a king is but 

A man, and so am I ; 
Content is worth a monarchic 

And mischiefs hit the hie ; 190 

" As late it did a king and his 

Not dwelling far from hence, 
Who left a daughter, save thyselfe, 

For fair a matchless wench." 

Here did he pause, as if his tongue 195 

Had done his heart offence. 

The neatresse, longing for the rest, 

Did egge him on to tell 
How faire she was, and who she was. 

She bore, quoth he, the bell 200 

" For beautie : though I clownish am, 

I know what beautie is ; 
Or did I not, at seeing thee, 

I senceles were to mis. 

***** 

" Her stature comely, tall ; her gate 205 

Well graced ; and her wit 
To marvell at, not meddle with, 

As matchless I omit. 

" A globe-like head, a gold-like haire, 

A forehead smooth, and hie, 210 

An even nose ; on either side 
Did shine a grayish eie : 

" Two rosie cheeks, round ruddy lips, 

White just-set teeth within ; 
A mouth in meane ; and underneathe 215 

A round and dimpled chin. 

" Her snowie necke, with blewish veines, 

Stood bolt upright upon 
Her portly shoulders : beating balles 

Her veined breasts, anon 220 

" Adde more to beautie. Wand-like was 

Her middle falling still, 
And rising whereas women rise:* * * 

— Imagine nothing ill. 

" And more, her long, and limber armes 225 

Had white and azure wrists ; 
And slender fingers aunswere to 

Her smooth and lillie fists. 

" A legge in print, a pretie foot ; 

Conjecture of the rest : 230 

For amorous eies, observing forme, 

Think parts obscured best. 

" With these, O raretie ! with these 

Her tong of speech was spare ; 
But speaking, Venus seem'd to speake, 235 

The balle from Ide to bear. 

" With Phoebe, Juno, and with both 

Herselfe contends in face ; 
Wheare equall mixture did not want 

Of milde and stately grace. 240 



" Her smiles were sober, and her lookes 

Were chearefull unto all : 
Even such as neither wanton seeme, 

Nor waiward ; mell, nor gall. 

" A quiet minde, a patient moode, 245 

And not disdaining any ; 
Not gybing, gadding, gawdy : and 

Sweete faculties had many. 

" A nimph, no tong, no heart, no eie, 

Might praise, might wish, might see , 250 

For life, for love, for forme ; more good, 

More worth, more faire than shee. 

" Yea such an one, as such was none, 

Save only she was such : 
Of Argentile to say the most, 255 

Were to be silent much." 

I knew the lady very well, 

But worthies of such praise, 
The neatresse said : and muse I do, 

A shepheard thus should blaze 260 

The ' coate' of beautie*. Credit me, 

Thy latter speech bewraies. 

Thy clownish shape a coined shew. 

But wherefore dost thou weepe ? 
The shepheard wept, and she was woe, 2J5 

And both doe silence keepe. 

" In troth, quoth he, I am not such, 

As seeming I professe : 
But then for her, and now for thee, 

I from myselfe digresse. 270 

" Her loved I (wretch that I am 

A recreant to be) 
I loved her, that hated love, 

But now I die for thee. 

" At Kirkland is my fathers court, 275 

And Curan is mv name, 
In Edels court sometimes in pompe, 

Till love countrould the same : 

" But now — what now? — deare heart, how now ? 

What ailest thou to weepe 1" 230 

The damsell wept, and he was woe, 

And both did silence keepe. 

I graunt, quoth she, it was too much, 

That you did love so much : 
But whom your former could not move, 285 

Your second love doth touch. 

Thy twice-beloved Argentile 

Submitteth her to thee, 
And for thy double love presents 

Herself a single fee, 290 

In passion not in person chang'd, 

And I, my lord, am she. 

They sweetly surfeiting in joy, 

And silent for a space. 
When as the extasie had end, 295 

Did tenderly imbrace ; 
And for their wedding, and their wish 

Got fitting time and place. 

e. emblazon beauty's coat. Ed. 1597,160? 1612, read 



Coott. 



132 



JANE SHORE. 



Not England (for of Hengist then 

Was named bo this land) ?00 

Then Conn had an hardier knight; 

His force could none withstand : 
Whose sheep-hooke laid apart, he then 

Had higher things in hand. 

First, making knowne his lawfull claiine 305 

In Argentile her right, 
He warr'd in Diria*, and he wonne, 

13ernicia*too in fight : 



And so from trecherous Edel tooke 
At once his life and crowne, 

And of Northumberland was king, 
Long raigning in renowne. 



310 



* * During the Saxon heptarchy, the kingdom of 
Northumberland (consisting of six northern counties, 
besides part of Scotland) was for a long time divided 
into two lesser sovereignties, viz. Deira (called here 
Diria) which contained the southern parts, and Ber- 
nicia, comprehend those which lay north. 



XXV. 

CORIN'S FATE. 



Only the three first stanzas of this song are 
ancient; these are extracted from a small quarto 
MS. in the Editor's possession, written in the time 
of Queen Elizabeth. As they seemed to want appli- 
cation, this has been attempted by a modern hand. 
Corin, most unhappie swaine, 

Whither wilt thou drive thy flocke? 
Little foode is on the plaine ; 
Full of danger is the rocke : 

Wolfes and beares doe kepe the wood3 5 ; 5 

Forests tangled are with brakes : 
Meadowes subject are to floodes ; 

Moore s are full of miry lakes. 



Yet to shun all plaine, and bill, 

Forest, moore, and meadow-ground, 

Hunger will as surely kill : 

How may then reliefe be found } 



10 



Such is hapless Corins fate : 

Since my waywarde love begunne, 

Equall doubts begett debate 

What to seeke, and what to shunne. 



Spare to speke, and spare to speed ; 

Yet to speke will move disdaine : 
If I see her not I bleed, 

Yet her sight augments my paine. 



What may then poor Corin doe ? 

Tell me, shepherdes, quicklye tell 
For to linger thus in woe 

Is the lover's sharpest hell. 



15 



20 



XXVI. 



JANE SHORE. 



Though so many vulgar errors have prevailed 
concerning this celebrated courtezan, no character in 
history has been more perfectly handed down to us. 
We have her portrait drawn by two masterly pens ; 
the one has delineated the features of her person, 
the other those of her character and story. Sir 
Thomas More drew from the life, and Drayton Iras 
Copied an original picture of her. The reader will 
pardon the Length of the quotations, as they serve to 
cornet many popular mistakes relating to her catas- 
trophe. The first is from Sir Thomas More's His- 
tory of Richard III. written in 1613, about thirty 

years alter the ileatli of Kdward IV. 

" .Now then by and by, as it wer for anger, not 

for covetise, the prbteotor sem into the house of 

Shores wife (lor her husband dwelled not with her) 
and spoiled her ofsJ that ever she had, (above the 
trains of % or .') thousand marks) and sent her body 
to prison. And when he had a while hude unto her, 
for the manner sake that she wont about to bewitch 
him, and that she was of counsel with the lord 
chamherlein to destroy him: in c(r«c'*sioi 



that no colour could fasten upon these matters, then 
be layd heinously to her charge the thing that her- 
selfe could not deny, that al the world wist was 
true, and that natheless every man laughed at to 
here it then so sodainly so highly taken, — that she 
was naught of her body. And for thys cause, (as a 
goodly continent prince, clene and fautless of him- 
self, sent out of heaven into this vicious world for 
the amendment of mens manners) he caused the 
bishop of London to put her to open pennance, 
going before the crosse in procession upon a sondav 
with a taper in her hand. In which she went in 
countenance and pace demure so womanly ; and al- 
beit she was out of al array save her kyrtle only, yet 
went she SO fair and lovely, namelye, while the 
wondering of the people caste a comly rud in her 
chekes (of which she before had most misse) that 
her great shame wan her much praise among those 
that were more amorous of her body, then curious of 
her soule. And many good folke also, that hated 
her living, and glad wer to se sin corrected, yet 
pittiiu] thai more her penance than rejoiced therin, 



JANE SHORE. 



153 



when thei considred that the protector procured it 
more of a corrupt intent, than any virtuous af- 
feccion. 

" This woman was horn in London, worshipfully 
frended, honestly brought up, and very wel maryed, 
saving' somewhat to soone : her husbande an honest 
citizen, yonge, and goodly, and of good substance. 
But forasmuche as they were coupled ere she wer 
wel ripe, she not very fervently loved, for whom she 
never longed. "Which was happely the thinge, that 
the more easily made her encline unto the king's ap- 
petite, when he required her. Howbeit the respect 
of his royaltie, the hope of gay apparel, ease, pie- 
sure, and other wanton welth, was able soone to 
perse a soft tender hearte. But when the king had 
abused her, anon her husband (as he was an honest 
man, and one that could his good, not presuming to 
touch a kinges concubine) left her up to him al toge- 
ther. When the king died, the lord chamberlen 
[Hastings] toke her* : which in the kinges daies, 
albeit he was sore enamoured upon her, yet he for- 
bare her, either for reverence, or for a certain frendly 
faithfulness. 

" Proper she was, andfaire :nothinginher bodythat 
you wold have changed, but if you would have wished 
her somewhat higher. Thus say thei that knew her 
lr. her youthe. Albeit some that ' now see her (for 
?et she liveth)' deme her never to have bene wel 
visaged. Whose jugement seemeth me somewhat 
like, as though men should gesse the bewty of one 
longe before departed, by her scalpe taken out of the 
charnel-house ; for now is she old, lene, withered, 
and dried up, nothing left but ryvllde skin, and hard 
bone. And yet being even such, whoso wel advise 
herr visage, might gesse and devise which partes 
how filled, Wold make it a fair face. 

" Yet delited not men so much in her bewty, as in 
her pleasant behaviour. For a proper wit had she, 
and could both rede wel and write ; mery in com- 
pany, redy and quick of aunswer, neither mute nor 
ful of bable ; sometime taunting without displeasure, 
and not without disport. The king would say, That 
he had three concubines, which in three divers pro- 
| perties diversly excelled. One the meriest, another 
the wiliest, the thirde the holiest harlot in his realme, 
as one whom no man could get out of the churc 
lightly to any place, but it wer to his bed. The other 
two wer somwhat greater personages, and natheles 
of their humilite content to be nameles, and to for- 
bere the praise of those properties ; but the meriest 
was the Shoris wife, in whom the king therfore toke 
special pleasure. For many he had, but her he loved, 
whose favour, to sai the trouth (for sinne it wer to 
belie the devil) she never abused to any mans hurt, 
but to many a mans comfort and relief. Where the 
king toke displeasure, she would mitigate and ap- 
pease his mind : where men were out of favour, she 
wold bring them in his grace : for many, that had 



* After the death of Hastings, she was kept by the Mar- 
quis of Dorset, son to Edward IV's queen. In Rymer's 
Fcedera is a proclamation of Richard's, dated at Leicester, 
October 23, 1483, wherein a reward of 1000 marks in money, 
or 100 a year in land is offered for taking " Thomas late 
Marquis of Dorset," who, " not having the fear of God, nor 
the salvation of his own soul, before his eyes, has damnably 
debauched and defiled many maids, widows, and wives, and 
'lived in actual adultery with the wife of Shore.'" Buck- 
ingham was at that time in rebellion, but as Dorset was not 
with him, Richard could not accuse him of treason, and 
therefore made a handle of these pretended debaucheries 
to p.* him apprehended. Vide Rym. Feed. torn. xij. page 



highly offended, shee obtained pardon : of great for- 
feitures she gate men remission : and finally in many 
weighty sutes she stode many men in great stede, 
either for none or very smal rewardes, and those ra- 
ther gay than rich : either for that she was content 
with the dede selfe well done, or for that she delited 
to be sued unto, and to show what she was able to 
do with the king, or for that wanton women and 
welthy be not alway covetous. 

" I doubt not some shal think this woman too 
sleight a thing to be written of, and set amonge the 
remembraunces of great matters : which thei shal 
specially think, that happely shal esteme her only by 
that thei ' now see her.' But me semeth the chaunce 
so much the more worthy to be remembred, in how 
much she is ' now' in the more beggerly condicion, 
unfrended and worne out of acquaintance, after good 
substance, after as grete favour with the prince, 
after as grete sute and seeking to w r ith al those, 
that in those days had busynes to spede, as 
many other men were in their times, which be now 
famouse only by the infamy of their il dedes. Her 
doinges were not much lesse, albeit thei be muche 
lesse remembred because thei were not so evil. *For 
men use, if they have an evil turne, to write it in 
marble ; and whoso doth us a good tourne, we write 
it in duste. Which is not worst proved by her ; for 
' at this daye' shee beggeth of many at this daye 
living, that at this day had begged, if shee had not 
bene." See More's workes, folio, black letter, 1557, 
pp. 56, 57. 

Drayton has written a poetical epistle from this 
lady to her royal lover, and in his notes thereto he 
thus draws her portrait : " Her stature was meane, 
her haire of a dark yellow, her face round and full, 
her eye gray, delicate harmony being betwixt each 
part's proportion, and each proportion's colour, her 
body fat, white and smooth, her countenance cheer- 
full and like to her condition. The picture which I 
have seen of hers was such as she rose out of her 
bed in the morning, having nothing on but a rich 
mantle cast under one arme over her shoulder, and 
sitting on a chaire, on which her naked arm did lie. 
What her father's name was, or where she was 
borne, is not certainly knowne : but Shore a young 
man of right goodly person, wealth and behaviour, 
abandoned her bed after the king had made her his 
concubine. Richard III. causing her to do open 
penance in Paul's church-yard, * commanded that no 
man should relieve her/ which the tyrant did, not so 
much for his hatred to sinne, but that by making his 
brother's life odious, he might cover his horrible 
treasons the more cunningly." See England's He- 
roical Epistles, by Michael Drayton, Esq. London 
1637, 12mo. 

The history of Jane Shore receives new illustra- 
tion from the following letter of King Richard III. 
which is preserved in the Harl. MSS. Number 433 
Article 2378, but of which the copy transmitted to 
the Editor has been reduced to modern orthography, 
&c. It is said to have been addressed to Russel 
bishop of Lincoln, lord chancellor, Anno 1484. 

* These words of Sir Thomas More probably suggested to 
Shakespeare that proverbial reflection in Hen viii. Act 4, 
sc. 11. 

" Men's evill manners live in brass-: their virtues 
We write in water." 
Shakespeare, in his play of Rirhard III, follows More's 
History of that reign, and therefore could not but see this 
passage 



154 



JAM; SHOitK. 



By the KING. 

" Right Reverend Father in God, &c. signifying; 
unto you, that it is shewed unto us, that our Servant 
and Solicitor Thomas Lynom, marvellously blinded 
and abused with the late Wife of William Shore, now 
living in Ludgate by our commandment, hath made 
Contract of Matrimony with her. as it is said, and 
intendeth to our full great marvel, to effect the same. 
W E, for many causes, would be sorry that he should 
be so disposed ; pray you therefore to send for him, 
and in that ve goodly may, exhort, and stir him to 
the contrary : And if ye find him utterly set for to 
marry her, and none otherwise would be advertized, 
then, if it may stand with the laws of the church, we 
be content the time of marriage be deferred to our 
coming next to London ; that upon sufficient Surety 
found of her good abearing, _ye do so send for her 
Keeper, and discharge him of our said commandment, 
by Warrant of these, committing her to the rule, and 
guiding of her Father, or any other, by your direc- 
tion, in the mean season.' Given, &c. 

" RIC. Rex." 

It appears from two articles in the same MS. that 
King Richard had granted to the said Thomas Linom 
the office of King's Solicitor (Article 134,) and also 
the Manor of Colmeworth, com Bedf. to him his 
heirs male (Article 596). 

An original picture of Jane Shore almost naked is 
preserved in the Provost's Lodgings at Eton ; and 
another picture of her is in the Provost's Lodge at 
King's Colloge, Cambridge : to both which founda- 
tions she is supposed to have done friendly offices with 
Edward IV. A small quarto mezzotinto print was 
taken from tlie former of these by J. Faber. 

The following ballad is printed (with some cor- 
rections) from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys 
collection. Its full title is, " The woeful lamenta- 
tion of Jane Shore, a goldsmith's wife in London, 
sometime king Edward IV. his concubine. To 
the tune of ' Live with me/ &c." [See the first 
volume.] To every stanza is annexed the following 
burthen : 

Then maids and wives in time amend, 
For love and beauty will have end. 

It Rosamonde that was so faire, 
Had cause her sorrowes to declare, 
Then let Jane Shore with sorrowe sing 
That was beloved of a king. 

In maiden yeares my beautye bright 5 

Was loved dear of lord and knight ; 
But yet the love that they requir'd, 
It was not as my friends desir'd. 

My parents they, for thirst of gaine, 

A husband for me did obtains ; 10 

And 1, their pleasure to fulfills, 

Was fbro'd to wedd against my will.-. 
To Matthew Shore I was ;i wife, 

Till lust brought mine to my life ; 

And then my life I lew dl\e spent, 1.) 

Which makes my soul lor to lament. 

In Lombard-street I once did dwelle, 

As London vet can wilnesse welle j 

Where nianv gallants did helmlde 

My beautye in a shop of golde. 20 



I spred my plumes, as wantons doe, 
Some sweet and secret friende to wooe, 
Because chast love I did not tinde 
Agreeing to my wanton minde. 

At last my name in court did ring 25 

Into the eares of Englandes king, 
Who came and lik'd, and love requir'd, 
But I made coye what he desir'd : 

Yet Mistress Blague, a neighbour neare, 
Whose friendship I esteemed deare, 30 

Did saye, It was a gallant thing 
To be beloved of a king. 

By her persuasions I was led, 

For to defile my marriage-bed, 

And wronge my wedded husband Shore, 35 

Whom I had married yeares before. 

In heart and mind I did rejoyce, 

That I had made so sweet a choice ; 

And therefore did my state resigne, 

To be king Edward's concubine, 40 

From city then to court I went, 
To reape the pleasures of content ; 
There had the joyes that love could bring, 
And knew the secrets of a king. 

When I was thus advanc'd on highe 45 

Commanding Edward with mine eye, 
For Mrs. Blague 1 in short space 
Obtainde a livinge from his grace. 

No friende I had but in short time 

I made unto a promotion climbe ; 50 

But yet for all this costlye pride, 

My husbande could not mee abide. 

His bed, though wronged by a king, 
His heart with deadlye griefe did sting ; 
From England then he goes aw ay 55 

To end his life beyond the sea. 

He could not live to see his name 

Impaired by my wanton shame ; 

Although a prince of peerlesse might 

Did reape the pleasure of his right. 60 

Long time I lived in the courte, 
With lords and ladies of great sorte ; 
And when I smil'd all men were glad, 
But when I frown'd my prince grewe sad. 

But yet a gentle minde I bore 6c> 

To helplesse people, that were poore ; 

1 still redrest the orphans crye, 

And sav'd their lives condenmd to dye. 

I still had ruth on widowes tears, 

1 succour'd babes offender yeares ; 70 

And never look'd for other gaine 

But love and thankes for all my paine. 

At last my royall king king did dye, 

And then my dayes of woe grew nighe ; 

\\ hen crook-back Richard got the crowne, 75 

King Edwards friends were soon put downe. 



CORYDONS DOLEFUL KNELL. 



165 



1 then was punisht for my sin, 

That I so long had lived in ; 

Yea, every one that was his friend, 

This tyrant brought to shamefull end. 80 

Then for my lewd and wanton life, 
That made a strumpet of a wife, 
I penance did in Lombard-street, 
In shamefull manner in a sheet. 

Where many thousands did me viewe, 85 

Who late in court my credit knewe ; 
Which made the teares run down my face, 
To thinke upon my foul disgrace. 

Not thus content, they took from mee 
My goodes, my livings, and my fee, 90 

And charg'd that none should me relieve, 
Nor any succour to me give. 

Then unto Mrs. Blague I went, 

To whom my jewels I had sent, 

In hope therebye to ease my want, * 95 

When riches fail'd, and love grew scant : 

But she denyed to me the same 

When in my need for them I came ; 

To recompence my former love, 

Out of her doores shee did me shove. 100 

So love did vanish with my state, 
Which now my soul repents too late ; 
Therefore example take by mee, 
For friendship parts in povertie. 

But yet one friend among the rest, 105 

Whom I before had seen distrest, 
And sav'd his life, condemn'd to die, 
Did give me food to succour me : 

For which, by lawe, it was decreed 
That he was hanged for that deed ; 1 10 

His death did grieve me so much more, 
Than had I dyed myself therefore. 



Then those to whom I had done good, 
Durst not afford mee any food ; 
Whereby I begged all the day, H5 

And still in streets by night I lay. 

My gowns beset with pearl and gold, 

Were turn'd to simple garments old ; 

My chains and gems and golden rings, 

To filthy rags and loathsome things. 120 

Thus was I scorn'd of maid and wife, 
For leading such a wicked life ; 
Both sucking babes and children small, 
Did make their pastime at my fall. 

1 could not get one bit of bread, 125 

Whereby my hunger might be fed : 
Nor drink, but such as channels yield,^ 
Or stinking ditches in the field. 

Thus, weary of my life, at lengthe 

I yielded up my vital strength ISO 

Within a ditch of loathsome scent, 

Where carrion dogs did much frequent : 

The which now since my dying daye, 
Is Shoreditch call'd, as writers saye* j 
Which is a witness of my sinne, 135 

For being concubine to a king. 

You wanton wives, that fall to lust, 

Be you assur'd that God is just ; 

Whoredome shall not escape his hand, 

Nor pride unpunish'd in this land. 140 

If God to me such shame did bring, 
That yielded only to a king, 
How shall they scape that daily run 
To practise sin with every one '{ 

You husbands, match not but for love, 1 15 

Lest some disliking after prove ; 

Women, be warn'd when you are wives, 

What plagues are due to sinful lives : 
Then, maids and wives, in time amend, 
For love and beauty will have end. 



XXVII. 

cohydon's doleful knell. 



This little simple elegy is given, with some cor- 
rections, from two copies, one of which is in " The 
Golden Garland of Princely Delights." 

The burthen of the song, *' Ding Dong, &c." is 
at present appropriated to burlesque subjects, and, 
therefore, may excite only ludicrous ideas in a mo- 
dern reader ; but, in the time of our poet, it usually 
accompanied the most solemn and mournful strains. 
Of this kind is that fine aerial dirge in Shakspear's 
Tempest : 

" Full fadom five thy father lies, 

Of his bones are corrall made ; 
Those are pearles that were his eyes j 

Nothing of him that doth fade* 



But doth suffer a sea-change 

Into something rich and strange : 
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell, 
Harke now I heare them, Ding dong bell. 

" Burthen, Ding dong." 
I make no doubt but the poet intended to conclude 
the above air in a manner the most solemn and ex- 
pressive of melancholy. 

My Phillida, adieu love ! 

For evermore farewel ! 
Ay me ! I've lost my true love, 

And thus I ring her knell, 

* But it had this name long befoie ; being so called from 
its being a common Sewer (vulgarly Shore) or drain. See 
Stow. 



156 



THE COMPLAINT OF CONSCIENCE. 



Ding dong, ding dontr, ding 
t My Phillida u dead ! 
I'll slick a branch of willow 
At my fair Phillia' head. 

For my fair Phillida, 

Our bridal bed was made : 

But 'stead of silkes so gay, 
She in her shroud is laid. 
Diner, &c. 



Her corpse shall be attended, 
By maides in fair array, 

Till the obsequies are ended, 
And she is wrapt in clay. 
Diner, & c . 



Her herse it shall be carried 
By youths that do excell ; 

And when that she is buried, 
I thus will ring her knell, 
Ding, &c. 



A garland shall be framed 
By art and natures skill, 

Of sundry-colour'd flowers, 
In token of good-will*. 
Ding, &c. 



dong, 



10 



15 



20 



And sundry-colour'd ribbands 25 

On it I will bestow 1 
But chiefly black and yellowe* : 

With her to grave shall go. 
Ding, &cc. 

I'll decke her tombe with flowers, 

The rarest ev r er seen, 30 

And with my tears, as showers, 

I'll keepe them fresh and green. 
Ding, Sec. 

Instead of fairest colours, 

Set forth with curious art f, 
Her image shall be painted 35 

On my distressed heart. 
Ding, &c. 

And thereon shall be graven 

Her epitaph so faire, 
" Here lies the loveliest maiden, 

That e'er gave shepheard care." 4CI 

Ding, &c. 

In sable will I mourne ; 

Blacke shall be all my weede : 
Ay me ! I am forlorne, 
Now Phillida is dead ! 

Ding dong, ding dong, ding doni;-, 45 

My Phillida is dead ! 
I'll stick a branch of willow 
At my fair Phillis' head. 



THE END OF THE SECOND E00K. 



SERIES THE SECOND. 
BOOK III. 



THE COMPLAINT OF CONSCIENCE. 



T shall begin this Third Book with an old allegoric 

satire: A manner of moralizing, which, if it wasnol 
firsl introduced by the author of " Pierce Plowman's 

Visions/ 1 Was at least chiefly brought into repute 

by thai ancient satirist. It is not so generally 
known that the Kind of verse used in tliis ballad hath 
any affinity with the peculiar metre of that writer, 
for which reason I .shall throw together some cursory 
remarks on that very singular species of versification, 
the nature of which has been so little understood. 

• It is ;i eutoffl in many parts of England, t<> earn a 
Bowery garland before lbs coruu of a woman who diet 

uiiuiairicd. 



ON THE ALLITERATIVE MBTRB, WITHOUT RHYME, IV 
I'll ltd'. PLOWMAN'S VISIONS. 
We learn from Wormius*, that the ancient Islau- 
dic poets used a great variety of measures : he men- 
tions 186 different kinds, without including rhyme, 
or a correspondence of final syllables : yet this was 

• Sec above, preface to No. XI, Hook II. 

i This alludes to the painted effigies of Alabaster, anciently 
erected upon tombs and monuments. 

• Literature Runica. Hafnlse 1030, 4to.— 1C51, fol. The 

1-1. uiilic language Isof the same origin as our Anglo-Saxon, 
being both dialect! of the ancient Gothic orTeutonic. Vid. 
Hickeaii PnefaJt in Grammat. Anglo -Saxon, & Moeso-Goth, 

■Jto, 1039. 



THE ALLITERATIVE METRE. 



5? 



occasionally used, as appears from the*Ode of Egil, 
which Wormius hath inserted in his book. 

He hath analysed the structure of one of these 
kinds of verse, the harmony of which neither de- 
pended on the quantity of the syllables, like that of 
the ancient Greeks and Romans ; nor on the rhymes 
at the end, as in modern poetry ; but consisted alto- 
gether in alliteration, or a certain artful repetition of 
the sounds in the middle of the verses. This was 
adjusted according to certain rules of their prosody, 
one of which was, that every distich should contain 
at least three words beginning with the same letter 
or sound. Two of these corresponding sounds 
might be placed either in the first or second line of 
the distich, and one in the other : but all three were 
not regularly to be crowded into one line. This 
will be the best understood by the following exam- 
ples*. 

" Afeire og Minne " Gab Ginunga 

Jiogu heimdaller." Enn Gras huerge." 

There were many other little niceties observed by 
the Islandic poets, who, as they retained their ori- 
ginal language and peculiarities longer than the other 
nations of Gothic race had time to cultivate their 
native poetry more, and to carry it to a higher pitch 
of refinement, than any of the rest. 

Their brethren the Anglo-Saxon poets occasionally 
used the same kind of alliteration, and it is common 
to meet in their writings with similar examples of 
the foregoing rules. Take an instance or two in 
modern characters!; 



Skeop tha and S/cyrede 
Skyppend ure." 



.Ham and Heahsetl 
Heofena rikes." 



T know not, however, that there is any where extant 
an entire Saxon poem all in this measure. But dis- 
tichs of this sort perpetually occur in all their poems 
of any length. 

Now, if we examine the versification of " Pierce 
Plowman's Visions," we shall fi .id it constructed ex- 
actly by these rules ; and therefore each line, as 
printed, is in reality a distich of two verses, and will, 
I believe, be found distingushed as such, by some 
mark or other in all the ancient MSS. viz. 

" In a Somer Season, | when ' hot$ ' was the Sunne, 
I Sfcope me into S/iroubs, J as I a Sfcepe were ; 
In iJabite as an ifarmet | unHoly of werkes, 
Went Wy&e in thys world | JFonders to heare," &c. 

So that the author of this poem will not be found 
to have invented any new mode of versification, as 
some have supposed, but only to have retained that 
of the old Saxon and Gothic poets ; which was pro- I 
bably never wholly laid aside, but occasionally used 
at different intervals : though the ravages of time 
will not suffer us now to produce a regular series of 
poems entirely written in it. 

There are some readers, whom it may gratify to 
mention, that these " Visions of Pierce [i. e. Peter] 
the Plowman," are attributed to Robert Langland, a 
secular priest, born at Mortimer's Cleobury in 
Shropshire, and fellow of Oriel college in Oxford, 
who flourished in the reigns of Edward III. and 
Richard II. and published his poem a few years 



* Vid. Hickes Antiq. Literatur. Septentrional. Tom. I, p. 
217. 

t Ibid. 

j So I would read with Mr. Warton, rather than either 
"soft," as in MS. or " set," as in PCC 



after 1350. It consits of xx Passus or Breaks*, ex- 
hibiting a series of visions, which he pretends hap- 
pened to him on Malvern hills in Worcestershire. 
The author excels in strong allegoric painting, and 
has with great humour, spirit, and fancy, censured 
most of the vices incident to the several professions 
of life ; but he particularly inveighs against the cor- 
ruptions of the clergy, and the absurdities of super- 
stition. Of this work I have now before me four 
different editions in black-letter quarto. Three of 
them are printed in 1550 by Robert Crowley, 
dwelling in Elye rentes in Holburne. It is re- 
markable that two of these are mentioned in the 
title-page as both of the second impression, though 
they contain evident variations in every pagef. The 
other is said to be newlye imprynted after the 

authors olde copy by Owen Rogers, Feb. 

21, 1561. 

As Langland was not the first, so neither was he 
the last that used this alliterative species of versi- 
fication. To Rogers's edition of the Visions is 
subjoined a poem, which was probably writ in imi- 
tation of them, intitled "Pierce the Ploughman's 
Crede." It begins thus : 

" Cros, and Curteis Christ, this beginning spede 
For the Faders Frendshipe, that Fourmed heaven, 
And through the Special Spirit, that Snrong of hem 

tweyne, 
And al in one godhed endles dwelleth." 

The author feigns himself ignorant of his Creed, to 
be instructed in which he applies to the four reli- 
gious orders, viz. the gray friers of St. Francis, the 
black friers of St. Dominic, the Carmelites or white 
friers, and the Augustines. This affords him occa- 
sion to describe in very lively colours the sloth, 
ignorance, and immorality of those reverend drones. 
At length he meets with Pierce a poor Ploughman, 
who resolves his doubts, and instructs him in the 
principles of true religion. The author was evidently 
a follower of Wiccliff, whom he mentions (with 
honour) as no longer living:]:. Now that reformer 
died in 1384. How long after his death this poem 
was written, does not appear. 

In the Cotton library is a volume of ancient 
English poems§, two of which are written in this 
alliterative metre, and have the division of the lines 
into distichs distinctly marked by a point, as is 
usual in old poetical MSS. That which stands first 
of the two (though perhaps the latest written) is 
intitled " The sege of I erlam," [i. e. Jerusalem], 
being an old fabulous legend composed by some 
monk, and stuffed with marvellous figments con- 
cerning the destruction of the holy city and temple. 
It begins thus : 

"In Tyberius Tyme . the Trewe emperour 

Syr Sesar hymself . beSted in Rome 

Whyll Pylat was Provoste . under that Prynce ryche 



* The poem properly contains xxi parts ; the word passus, 
adopted by the author, seems only to denote the break or 
division between two parts, though by the ignorance of the 
printer applied to the parts themselves. See Series III. pre- 
face to ballad III. where Passus seems to signify Pause. 

t That which seems the fust of the two, is thus distin- 
guished in the title-page, nowe the seconde tyme imprinted by 
Roberte Crowlye ; the other thus, nowe the seconde tims im 
printed by Robert Crowley, tn the tormer the folios are thus 
erroneously numbered, 39, 39, 41, 63, 43, 42, 45, &c. The 
booksellers of those days did not ostentatiously affect to mul- 
tiply editions. 

j "Signature . tHH. $ Caligula A. ij. fol. 109, 123. 



138 



ON ALLITERATIVE METRE. 



And Jewes Justice also . of Judeas londe 
/ferode under empere . as i/erytage wolde 
Kyng," &C 

The other is intitled *' Chevalere Assigne" [or De 
Cigne], that is, " The Knight of the Swan," being 
an ancient Romance, beginning thus : 

" All-TI'eldvnge God . IFhene it is his IFvlle 
TI 'ele he H'ereth his TFerke . With his owene honde 
For ofte 7/armes were ifente . that Helpe we ne myzte 
Nere the /fyznes of i/ym . that lengeth in Hevene 
For this," See. 

Among Mr. Garrick's collection of old plays* is a 
prose narrative of the adventures of this same Knight 
of the Swan, " newly translated out of Frenshe into 
Englyshe, at thinstigacion of the puyssant andillus- 
tryousprynce, lorde Edward duke of Buckynghame." 
This lord it seems had a peculiar interest in the 
book, for in the preface the translator tells us, that 
this " highe dygne and illustryous pvynce my lorde 
Edwarde by the grace of god Duke of Buckyngham, 
erle of Hereforde, Stafforde, and Northampton, de- 
syrynge cotydyally to encrease and augment the 
name and fame of such as were reiucent in vertuous 
feates and triumphaunt actes of chyvalry, and to en- 
courage and styre every lusty and gentell herte by 
the exemplyficacyon of the same, havyng a goodli 
booke of the highe and miraculous historiof a famous 
and puyssaunt kynge, named Oryant sometime 
reynynge in the parties of beyond e the sea, havynge 
to his wife a noble lady ; of whome she conceyved 
sixe sonnes and a daughter, and chylded of them at 
one only time ; at whose byrthe echone of them had 
a chayne of sylver at their neckes, the which were 
all tourned by the provydence of god into whyte 
swannes, save one, of the whiche this present hys- 
tory is compyld, named Helyas, the knight of the 
swanne, ' of whome linially isdyscended my sayde 
lorde.' The whiche ententifly to have the sayde 
hy story more amply and uny versally knowen in thvs 
hys natif countrie, as it is in other, hath of hys hie 
bountie by some of his faithful and trusti servauntes 
cohorted mi mayster Wynkin de Wordef to put the 

said vertuous hystori in prynte at whose insti- 

gacion and stiring I (Roberte Copland) have me 
applied, moiening the helpe of god, to reduce and 
translate it into our maternal and vulgare english 
tonge after the capacite and rudenesse of my weke 

entendement." A curious picture of the times! 

While in Italy literature and the fine arts were ready 
to burst forth with classical splendour under Leo X. 
the first peer of this realm was proud to derive his 
pedigree from a fabulous " Knight of the SwanJ." 

To return to the metre of Pierce Plowman : In 
the folio MS. so often quoted in this work, are 
two poems written in that species of versification. 
One of these is an ancient allegorical poem, intitled 

" Death and Life," (in 2 litis or parts, containing 
i ;: diaticha) winch, for aught that appears, may 

have been written as early, if not before, the time of 

Langland. The first forty lines are broke as they 

should he into distichs, a distinction that is neg- 



• K. v.,1. \. 

\ w de WordVi <<lit. Ll in 15 M, S.c Ames, i>. 03. Air. 
(',- copj U "« Imptinttd <it i.xndxn by »i<- friuiam Cop- 
land" 

He is laid In the itorj book i" be the grandfather of 
God f re j ol Boulogne, through whom I nuppoae the duke 
nade onl hit relation t" him. Thia duke wu beheaded 
Vtay 17, I.WI, 18 H.my VIII. 



lected in the remaining part of the transcript, in 
order I suppose to save room. It begins, 

" C/irist Christen king 

that on the Crosse tholed ; 
Hadd Paines and Passyons 

to defend our soules ; 
Give us Grace on the Ground 

the Greatlye to serve, 
For that Poyal Red blood 

that Pann from thy side." 

The subject of this piece is a vision, wherein the 
poet sees a contest for superiority between " our 
lady Dame Life," and the " ugly fiend Dame 
Death ;" who with their several attributes and 
concomitants are personified in a fine vein of alle- 
goric painting. Part of the description of Dame 
Life is, 

" Shee was Brighter of her Blee, 

then was the B right sonn : 
Her Pudd Pedder then the Pose, 

that on the Pise hangeth : 
Meekely smiling with her Mouth, 

And Merry in her lookes ; 
Ever Laughing for Love, 

as shee Like would. 
And as shee came by the Bankes, 

the Boughes eche one 
They Lowted to that Ladye, 

and Layd forth their branches ; 
Blossomes and Burgens 

Breathed full sweete ; 
Flowers Flourished in the Frith, 

where shee Forth stepped ; 
And the Grasse, that was Gray, 

Greened belive." 

Death is afterwards sketched out with a no less bold 
and original pencil. 

The other poem is that, which is quoted in the 
96th page of this work, and which was probably 
the last that was ever written in this kind of metre 
in its original simplicity unaccompanied with rhyme. 
It should have been observed above in page 96, that 
in this poem the lines are throughout divided into 
distichs, thus : 

Grant Gracious God, 

Grant me this time, &c. 

It is intitled «« Scottish Feilde" (in 2 Fitts, 420 dis- 
tichs.) containing a very circumstantial narrative oi 
the battle of Flodden, fought Sept. 9, 1513 : at 
which the author seems to have been present, from 
his speaking in the first person plural : 

" Then wr. 7Ud downe oun Tents , 
thai '/'old were a thousand." 

In the conclusion of the poem he gives this account 
of himself: 

" lie was a Gentleman by Jesu, 

that this Gest* made : 
Which Nay but as he Sayd t 

for Sooth and noe other. 
At Baprily that Bearne 

his /iiiling place had ; 



• Jest. MS. 

t Probably corrupted for- 



Says but as he .Saw.' 



ON ALLITERATIVE METRE. 



l.">9 



And his ancestors of old time 

have yearded* theire longe, 
Before William Conquerour 

this Cuntry did inhabitt. 
Jesus .Bring ' themf' to Blisse, 

that Brought us forth of bale, 
That hath Hearkned me ifeare 

or Heard my tale." 

The village of Bagily or Baguleigh is in Cheshire, 
and had belonged to the ancient family of Legh for 
two centuries before the battle of Flodden. Indeed 
that the author was of that country appears from 
other passages in the body of the poem, particularly 
from the pains he takes to wipe off a stain from the 
Cheshiremen, who it seems ran away in that battle, 
and from his encomiums on the Stanleys Earls of 
Derby, who usually headed that county. He 
laments the death of James Stanley bishop of Ely, 
as what had recently happened when this poem was 
written ; which serves to ascertain its date, for that 
prelate died March 22, 1514-5. 

Thus have we traced the Alliterative Measure so 
low as the sixteenth century. It is remarkable tbat 
all such poets as used this kind of metre, retained 
along with it many peculiar Saxon idioms, par- 
ticularly such as were appropriated to poetry : this 
deserves the attention of those who are desirous to 
recover the laws of the ancient Saxon Poesy, usually 
given up as inexplicable : I am of opinion that they 
will find what they seek in the metre of Pierce 
Plowman J. 

About the beginning of the sixteenth century this 
kind of versification began to change its form : the 
author of " Scottish Field," we see, concludes his 
poem with a couplet in rhyme : this was an innova- 
tion that did but prepare the way for the general 
admission of that more modish ornament: till at 
length the old uncouth verse of the ancient writers 
would no longer go down without it. Yet when 
Rhyme began to be superadded, all the niceties of 
Alliteration were at first retained along with it ; 
and the song of " Little John Nobody" exhibits this 
union very clearly. By degrees the correspondence 
of final sounds engrossing the whole attention of the 
poet, and fully satisfying the reader, the internal 
embellishment of Alliteration was no longer studied, 
and thus was this kind of metre at length swallowed 
up and lost in our common Burlesque Alexandrine, 
or Anapestic verse §, now never used but in ballads 

* Yearded, i. e. buried, earthed, earded. It is common 
to pronounce " Earth," in some parts of England " Yearth," 
particularly in the North. — Pitscottie, speaking of James III. 
slain at Bannockbourn, says, " Nae man wot whar they 
yearded him." 

t * us,' MS. In the second line above, the MS. has 
' bidding." 

J And in that of Robert of Gloucester. See the next note. 

§ Consisting of four Anapests ( o u -) in which the ac- 
cent rests upon every third syllable. This kind of verse, 
which I also call the Burlesque Alexandrine to distinguish 
it from the other Alexandrines of eleven and fourteen 
syllables, the parents of our lyric measure : See examples, 
pp. 151, 152, &c.) was early applied by Robert of Gloucester 
to serious subjects. That writer's metre, like this of Lang- 
land's, is formed on the Saxon models (each verse of his 
containing a Saxon distich ;) only instead of the internal alli- 
terations adopted by Langland, he rather chose final rhymes, 
as the French poets have done since. Take a specimen. 
'.. " The Saxons tho in their power, tho thii were so rive. 

Seve kingdoms made in Engelonde, and sutlie but vive : 

The king of Northomberlond, and of Eastangle also, 

Of Kent, and of Westsex, and of the March, therto." 
Robert of Guoucestcr wrote in the western dialect, and his 



and pieces of light humour, as in the following song 
of "Conscience," and in that well-known doggrel, 

" A cobler there was, and he lived in a stall." 

But although this kind of measure hath with us 
been thus degraded, it still retains among the French 
its ancient dignity; their grand heroic verse of 
twelve syllables* is the same genuine offspring of 
tho old alliterative metre of the ancient Gothic and 
Francic poets, stript like our Anapestic of its alli- 
teration, and ornamented with rhyme. But with 
this difference, that whereas this kind of verse hath 
been applied by us only to light and trivial subjects, 
to which by its quick and lively measure it seemed 
best adapted, our poets have let it remain in a more 
lax unconfined state f, as a greater degree of 
severity and strictness would have been inconsistent 
with the bight and airy subjects to which they have 
applied it. On the other hand, the French having 
retained this verse as the vehicle of their epic and 
tragic flights, in order to give it a stateliness and 
dignity were obliged to confine it to more exact laws 
of Scansion ; they have therefore limited it to the 
number of twelve syllables ; and by making the 
Caesura or Pause as full and distinct as possible, and 
by other severe restrictions, have given it all the 
solemnity of which it was capable. The harmony 
of both however depends so much on the same flow 
of cadence and disposal of the pause, that they appear 
plainly to be of the same original ; and every French 
heroic verse evidently consists of the ancient Distich 
of their Francic ancestors : which, by the way, will 
account to us why this verse of the French so 
naturally resolves itself into two complete hemistichs. 
And indeed by making the caesura or pause always 
to rest on the last syllable of a word, and by making 
a kind of pause in the sense, the French poets do in 
effect reduce their hemistichs to two distinct and 
independent verses: and some of their old poets 
have gone so far as to make the two hemistichs 
rhyme to each other t. 

After all, the old alliterative and anapestic metre 
of the English poets being chiefly used in a barbarous 



language differs exceedingly from that of other contempo- 
rary writers, who resided in the metropolis, or in the mid- 
land counties. Had the heptarchy continued, our English 
language would probably have been as much distinguished 
for its different dialects as the Greek; or at least as that of 
the sevetal independent states of Italy. 

* Or of thirteen syllables, in what they call a feminine 
ve r se. It is remarkable that the French alone have retained 
this old Gothic metre for their serious poems ; while the 
English, Spaniards, &c. have adopted the Italic verse of 
ten syllables, although the Spaniards, as well as we,-anciently 
used a short-lined metre. I believe the success with which 
Petrarch, and perhaps one or two others, first used the 
heroic verse of ten syllables in Italian Poesy, recommended 
it to the Spanish writers ; as it aho did to our Chaucer, who 
first attempted it in English ; and to his successors Lord 
Surrey. Sir Thomas Wyat. &c. ; who afterwards improved 
it and brought it to perfection. To Lcrd Surrey we also 
owe the first introduction of blank verse in his versions of 
the second and fourth books of the iEneid, 1557, 4to. 

t Thus our poets use this verse indifferently with twelve, 
eleven, and even ten syllables. For though regularly it 
consists of four anapests (o r -) or twelve syllables, yet 
they frequently retrench a syllable from the first or third 
anapest ; and sometimes from both; as in these instances 
from Prior and from the following song of Conscience : 

Who has eer been St Paris must needs know the' Greve, 

The fatal retreat of th' unfortunate brave. 

He" sttpt to him straight, and did him require. 

J See instances in LHist. de la Poesie Fnmqoise par 
Massieu, &c. In the same book are also specimens of aLM 
terative French verses. 



i»0 



ON ALLITERATIVE METRE 



age, and in nrude unpolished language, abounds with 
verses defective in length, proportion, and harmony ; 
and therefore cannot enter into a comparison with the 
correct versification of the best modern French 
•writers ; but making allowances for these defects, 
thai sort of metre runs with a cadence so exactly 
resembling the French heroic Alexandrine, that 1 
believe no peculiarities of their versification can be 
produced, which cannot be exactly matched in the 
alliterative metre. I shall give by way of example 
a few lines from the modern French poets accom- 
modated with parallels from the ancient poem of 
" Life and Death ;" in these I shall denote the 
Caesura or Pause by a perpendicular line and the 
Cadence by the marks of the Latin quantity. 

Le succes fut ton jours \ fin enfant de I'auddce , 
All shall drye with the dints | th&t I deal with my hands. 

L'homme prudent voit trbp — I'lllusion le suit, 
Yonder damsel Is death j that dressgth h6r to smite. 

L'hitrepide voit mieux \ et le fantbme ftiit*. 
When she doleftilly saw | hbw sh£ dang downe hlr folke. 

Mfane aux yeiix de I'injuste j fin mjuste est horrible^. 
ThCn she cast tip a crye | to th£ high king of heaven. 

Du mensbnqe toujours | le vrdi demeure tnaitre, 
Th6u shalt bltt6rly£ bye | 6r elre the bookg faileth. 

Pour pdrbitre hbnnete hbmme \ en fin mot, tl fdut VetreX 
Thus 1 fared throughe a frythh I where the flowers were 
nianye. 

To conclude ; the metre of Pierce Plowman's 
Visions has no kind of affinity with what is commonly 
called Blank Verse ; yet has it a sort of harmony of 
its own, proceeding not so much from its alliteration, 
as from the artful disposal of its cadence, and the 
contrivance of its pause ; so that when the ear is a 
little accustomed to it, it is by no means unpleasing ; 
but claims all the merit of the French heroic numbers, 
only far less polished ; being sweetened, instead of 
their final rhymes, with the internal recurrence of 
similar sounds, 

This Essay will receive illustration from another 
specimen in Warton's " History of English Poetry," 
Vol, I, p. 309, being the fragment of a MS poem on 
the subject of "Alexander the Great," in the Bodleian 
Library, which he supposes to be the same with 
Number 44, in the Ashmol.MSS. containing twenty- 
seven pasus, and beginning thus : 

Whener folk fastid [feasted, qu.'] and fed, 
fayne wolde thei her [i. e. hear] 

Some farand thing, &.c. 
It is well observed by Mr. Tyrwhitt, on Chaucer's 
sneer at this old alliterative metre : (Vol. iii, p. 305,) 
viz. 



I am a Sotherne [i. e. Southern] man, 



I cannot geste, rom, rain, ruf, by my letter. 
'I hut tli.- fondness for this species of versification, 
&c. was retained longest in the northern provinces : 
and that the author of" Pierce Plowman 8 Visions" 
is in the best MSS. called " \\ illiain," without any 
surname. (See vol. iv. p. 74.) 

ADDITIONS to 'Jin. ESSAY o\ jiii: \li.ii l it a i ive 

Ml. I 1(1 . 

Bince the foregoing Essay was first printed, the 

Editor h;ith met With 8 additional examples of 

the old alliterative metre. 

The first is in MS.* which begins thus: 

• Catalina, A. 3 t Boileau Bat j Boil Bat. 11. 
$ In a small it<> MS. containing jh leaver in private 



Crist Crowned Ayng, that on Cros didest* , 

And art Comfort of all Care, thowf, kind go out of 

Cours 
With tin //alwes in //even Heried mote thu be, 
And thy ll'orshipful ll'erkes IForshiped evre, 
That suche 6'ondry 6ic;nes .Shewest unto man, 
In Dremyng, in Drecchyngf , and in Derke swevenes 

The author from this proemium takes occasion to 
give an account of a dream that happened to him- 
self; which he introduces with the following cir- 
cumstances : 

Ones y me Ordayned, as y have Ofte doon, 
WithErendes, and Eel awes, Erendemen, and other ; 
And Caught me in a Company on Corpus Christi 

even, 
Six, other§ -Seven myle, out of Sufhampton, 
To take Melodye, and Mirthes,lamong my Makes ; 
With J?edyng of Romaunces, and i?evelyng among, 
The Dym of the Derknesse Drewe me into the west ; 
And be Gon for to spryng in the Grey day. 
Than Lift up my Lyddes, and Loked in the sky, 
And Anewe by the A'ende Cours, hit clered in the 

est: 
.Blyve y Busked me down, and to Bed went, 
For to Comforte my Aynde, and Cacche a slepe. 

He then describes his dream : 

Methought that y Hoved on High on an Hill, 
And loked Doun on a Dale Depest of othre ; 
Ther y Sawe in my 6'ighte a Selcouthe peple ; 
The Multitude was so Mocbe, it Mighte not be 
nombred. [axe 

Methoughte y herd a Crowned A'yng, of his Comunes 
A Soleyne |j Subsidie, to Susteyne his werres. 

***** [wordes, 

With that a Clerk A'neled adowne and Carped these 

Liege Lord; yffit you Like to Listen a while, 
Som 6'awes of 6'alomon y shall you shewe sone. 

The writer then gives a solemn lecture to kings 
on the art of governing. From the demand of sub- 
sidies " to susteyne his werres," I am inclined to 
believe this poem composed in the reign of King 
Henry V. as the MS. appears from a subsequent 
entry to have been written before the 9th of Henry 
VI. The whole poem contains but 146 lines. 

The alliterative metre was no less popular among 
the old Scottish poets, than with their brethren on 
this side the Tweed. In Maitland's Collection of 
ancient Scottish Poems, MS. in the Pepysian library, 
is a very long poem in this species of versification, 
thus inscribed : 

IIeik begins the Tretis of the Twa Marriit Wemen, 
and the VVedo, compylitbe Maister WilliamDunbar^f . 

" Upon the Midsummer evven Mirriest of nichtis 
I Muvit forth alane quhen as Midnight was past 
Hesyd ane Gudlie Grene Garth**, full of Gayflouris 
Hegeitft of ane Huge Hicht with //awthorne treeis 
Quairon ane Bird on ane Bransehe so Jhrst out biz 
notis [hard, &c." 

That nevir ane Blythfuller ZJird was on the Benche Xt 



• Didst dye. + though. . J being overpowered. 

i. ( . either, or. 
|| Solemn. 1 Since tlie above was written, this poem 
hath been printed in " Ancient Scottish Poems, &c. from 
the MS. collections of Sir It. Maitland, of Lcthingtons 
Icnlcbl <>f London, 17h<;," 2 vols, l'imo. The two first line, 
an- here corrected bj that edition. 

•• Garden. 'f Hedged. J| Bough. 



THE COMPLAINT OB CONSCIENCE. 



16L 



The author pretends to over- hear three gossips J 
sitting in an arbour, and revealing all their secret ! 
methods of alluring and governing the other sex ; 
it is a severe and humorous satire on bad women, 
and nothing inferior to " Chaucer's Prologue to his 
Wife of Bath's Tale." As Dunbar lived till about 
the middle of the sixteenth century, this poem was 
probably composed after " Scottish Field" (described 
above in p. 158,) which is the latest specimen I 
have met with written in England. This poem con- 
tains about five hundred lines. 

But the current use of the Alliterative Metre in 
Scotland, appears more particularly from those 
popular vulgar prophecies, which are still printed 
for the use of the lower people in Scotland, under 
the names of " Thomas the Rymer," " Marvellous 
Merlin g," &c. This collection seems to have been 
put together after the accession of James I. to the 
crown of England, and most of the pieces in it are 
in the metre of " Pierce Plowman's Visions." The 
first of them begins thus : 

'* Merling sayes in his book, who will .Read Bight, 
Although his Sayings be uncouth, they Shall be true 
In the seventh chapter, read PFhoso Will, [found, 
One thousand and more after Christ's birth, &c." 

And the " Prophesie of Beid : " 

" Betwixt the chief of Summer and the Sad winter ; 
Before the if eat of summer .Happen shall a war 
That Europ's lands Earnestly shall be wrought 
And Earnest Envy shall last but a while, &c." 

So again the " Prophesie of Berlington :" 

" When the Rviby is Eaised, i?est is there none, 
But much .Rancour shall .Rise in River and plain, 
Much Sorrow is Seen through a Suth-hound 
That bearesflbmes in his Head like a wyld H art, &c." 

In like metre is the "Prophesie of Waldhave :" 

" Upon Lowdon Law alone as I Lay, 
Looking to the Lennox, as me Lief thought, 
The first Morning of May, Medicine to seek 
For Malice and 3Ielody that Moved me sore, &c." 

And lastly, that intitled " The Prophesie of Gildas: 

" When holy kirk is TFracked and Will has no Wit 
And Pastors are Pluckt, and Pil'd without Pity 
When Idolatry Is In ens and re 
And spiritual pastours are vexed away, &c." 

It will be observed in the foregoing specimens, 
that the alliteration is extremely neglected, except 
in the third and fourth instances ; although all the 
rest are written in imitation of the cadence used in 
this kind of metre. It may perhaps appear from an 
attentive perusal, that the poems ascribed to Bur- 
lington and Waldhave are more ancient, than the 
others : indeed the first and fifth appear evidently to 
have been new modelled, if not intirely composed 
about the beginning of the last century, and are pro- 
bably the latest attempts ever made in this species of 
verse. 

In this and the foregoing Essay are mentioned 
all the specimens I have met with of the Alliterative 
Metre without rhyme : but instances occur some- 
times in old manuscripts, of poems written both 
with final rhymes in the internal cadence and alliter- 
ations of the Metre of Pierce Plowman. 



The following song, intitled, " The Complaint of 
Conscience," is printed from the Editor's folio manu- 
script : some corruptions in the old copy are here 
corrected ; but with notice to the reader wherever it 
was judged necessary, by inclosing the corrections 
between inverted ' commas.' 

As I walked of late by ' an' wood side, 

To God for to meditate was my entent ; 

Where under a hawthorne I suddenlye spyed 

A silly poore creature ragged and rent, 

With bloody teares his face was besprent, 5 

His fleshe and his color consumed away, 
And his garments they were all mire, mucke, and 
clay. 

This made me muse, and much • to' desire 
To know what kind of man hee shold bee ; 
I stept to him straight, and did him require 10 

His name and his secretts to shew unto mee. 
His head he cast up, and wooful was hee, 
My name, quoth he, is the cause of my care, 
And makes me scorned, and left here so bare. 

Then straightway he turned him, and prayd ' me' sit 

downe, 
And I will, saithe he, declare my whole greefe ; 16 
My name is called " Conscience :" — whereatt he did 

frowne, 
He pined to repeat it, and grinded his teethe, 
1 Though now, silly wretche, I'm denyed all releef,' 
' Yet' while I was young, and tender of yeeres, 20 
I was entertained with kinges, and with peeres. 

There was none in the court that lived in such fame, 

For with the kings councell ' I' sate in commission ; 

Dukes, earles, and barrons esteem'd of my name ; 

And how that I liv'd there needs no repetition : 25 

I was ever holden in honest condition, 

For howsoever the lawes went in Westminster-hall, 
When sentence was given, for me they wold call. 

No incomes at all the landlords wold take, 

But one pore peny, that was their fine ; 

And that they acknowledged to be for my sake. 

The poore wold doe nothing without councell mine : 

I ruled the world with the right line : 

For nothing was passed betweene foe and friend, 
But Conscience was called to bee at ' the' end. 35 

Noe bargaines,nor merchandize merchants wold make 
But I was called a wittenesse therto : 
No use for noe money, nor forfett wold take, 
But I wold controule them, if that they did soe : 
' And' that makes me live now in great woe, 40 

For then came in Pride, Sathan's disciple. 

That is now entertained with all kind of people. 

He brought with him three, whose names • thus they 

call' 
That is Covetousnes, Lecherye, Usury, beside : 
They never prevail'd, till they had wrought my 
downe-fall ; 45 

Soe Pride was entertained, but Conscience decried, 
And ' now ever since' abroad have I tryed 

To have had entertainment with some one or other , 
But I am rejected, and scorned of my brother. 

Ver 1, one, MS. V. 15, him, MS. V. 19, not in MS. 
V. 23, he sate, MS. V. 35, an end, MS. V. 43, they be 
these, MS. V. 46, was derided, MS. 



162 



THE COMPLAINT OF CONSCIENCE. 



Then went I to the court the gallatns to winn, 50 
Hut the porter kept me out of the gate : 
To Bartlemew Spittle to prav tor my sinne, 
They hade me goe pacta, it was fit t for my state ; 
goe, threed-bare Conscience, and seeke thee a 
mate. [queene, 

Good Lord, long preserve my king, prince, and 
With whom evermore I esteemed have been 56 

Then went I to London, where once I did 'dwell' : 
But they bade away with me, when they knew my 
For he will undoe us to bye and to sell ! [name ; 

They bade me goepacke me, and bye me for shame : 
They lought at my raggs, and there had good game ; 
This is old threed-bare Conscience, tkat dwelt 
with saint Peter 63 

But they wold not ad mitt me to be a chimney- 
sweeper. 

Not one wold receive me, the Lord • he' doth know ; 

I having but one poor pennye in my purse, 65 

On an awle and some patches 1 did it bestow ; 

• For' I thought better cobble shooes than doe worse. 

Straight then all the coblers began for to curse, 
And by statute wold prove me a rogue, and forlorne, 
And whipp me out of towne to ■ seeke' where I 
was borne 70 

Then did I remember, and call to my minde, 
The Court of Conscience where once I did sit : 
Not doubting but there I some favor shold find, 
For my name aud the place agreed soe fit, ; 
But there of my purpose 1 fayled a whit, 75 

For ' thoughe' the judge us' d my name in everye 

' commission,' 
The lawyers with their quillets wold get ' my' 
dismission. 

Then Westminster-hall was noe place for me ; 
Good lord! how the lawyers began to assemble, 
And fearfull they were, lest there I shold bee ! 80 
The silly poore clarkes began for to tremble ; 
I showed them my cause, and did not dissemble ; 
Soe they gave me some money my charges to beare, 
But swore me on a booke I must never come there. 

Next the merchants said, Counterfeite, get thee 
away, 85 

Dost thou remember how wee thee fond ? 
We banisht thee the country beyond the salt sea, 
And sett thee on shore in the New-found land ; 
And there thou and wee most friendly shook hand, 

Ver. 53, packc me, MS. V. 57, v.-onne, MS. V. 70, sec, 
V. 70, condition, MS. \ . 77, gel ft, MS. 



And we were right glad when thou didst refuse 
us; 90 

For when we wold reape profitt here ihou woldst 
accuse us. 

Then had I noe way, but for to goe on 
To gentlemens houses of an ancyent name ; 
Declaring my greefFes, and there I made moane, 
' Telling' how their forefathers held me in fame : 95 
And at letting their farmes ' how always I came.' 
They sayd, Eye upon thee ! we may thee curse : 
• Theiie' leases continue, and we fare the worse. 



And then I was forced a begging to goe 
To husbandmens houses, who greeved right sore, 100 
And sware that their landlords had plagued them so, 
That they were not able to keepe open doore, 
Nor nothing had left to give to the poore : 
Therefore to this wood 1 doe me repayre, 
Where hepps and hawes, that is my best fare. 105 

Yet within this same desert some comfort I have 
Of Mercy, of Pit.tye, and of Almes-deeds ; 
Who have vowed to company me to my grave. 
Wee are ' all' put to silence, and live upon weeds, 
' And hence such cold house-keeping proceeds'; 110 

Our banishment is its utter decay, 

The which the riche glutton will answer one day. 

Why then, I said to him, me-thinks it were best 
To goe to the clergie ; for dailye they preach 
Eche man to love you above all the rest ; 115 

Of Mercye, and Pittie, and Almes-' deeds', they 

teach. 
O, said he, noe matter of a pin what they preach, 
For their wives and their chddren soe hange them 

upon, 
That whosoever gives almes they will* give none 



Then laid he him down, and turned him away, 1'20 
And prayd me to goe, and leave him to rest. 
I told him, I haplie might yet see the day 
For him and his fellowes to live with the best. 
First, said he, banish Pride, then all England were 
blest; [land, 125 

For then those wold love us, that now sell their 
And then good • house-keeping wold revive' cut 
of hand. 



Ver. 95, And how, MS. V. 101. so sore, MS. V. 109, 
ill, MS. V. 110, not in MS. V. 1 19, almes -deeds. V. 126, 
houses ever; where wold be kept, MS. 

• We ought in justice and truth to read 'CSD.' 



II. 



PLAIN TRUTH, AND BLIND IGNORANCE. 



This excellent old ballad is preserved in the little 
ancient miscellany, entitled, " The Garland of Good- 
will." Ignorance is here made to speak in the broad 
Somersetshire dialect. The scene we may suppose 
to be Glastonbury Abbey, 



God speed you, ancient father, 

And give you a good daye ; 
What is the cause, I praye you. 

So sadly here you stave 1 
And that you keep such gazing 

On this decayed place, 
The which, for superstition, 

Good princes down did raze ? 

IGNORANCE. 



Chill tell thee, by my vazen *, 

That zometimes che have knowne 
A vair and goodly abbey 

Stand here of bricke and stone ; 
And many a holy vrier, 

As ich may say to thee, 
Within these goodly cloysters 

Che did full often zee. 



Then I must tell thee, father, 

In truthe and veritie, 
A sorte of greater hypocrites 

Thou couldst not likely see ; 
Deceiving of the simple 

With false and feigned lies : 
But such an order truly 

Christ never did devise. 

IGNORANCE. 

Ah ! ah ! che zmell thee now, man 

Che know well what thou art ; 
A vellow of mean learning, 

Thee was not worth a vart : 
Vor when we bad the old lawe, 

A merry world was then ; 
And every thing was plenty 

Among all zorts of men. 



Thou givest me an answer, 

As did the J ewes sometimes 
Unto the prophet Jeremye, 

When he accus'd their crimes : 
'Twas merry, sayd the people, 

And joy full in our rea'me, 
When we did offer spice-cakes 

Unto the queen of heav'n. 



10 



15 



20 



25 



30 



35 



40 



* i. e. faithen : as in the Midland counties they say housen, 
dosen, for houses, closes. A. 



&c, 



IGNORANCE. 

Chill tell thee what, good vellowe, 

Before the vriers went hence, 
A bushell of the best wheate 

Was zold vor vourteen pence ; 
And vorty egges a penny, 45 

That were both good and newe ; 
And this che zay my zelf have zeene, 

And yet ich am no Jewe. 



Within the sacred bible 

W r e find it written plain, 50 

The latter days should troublesome 

And dangerous be, certaine ; 
That we should be self-lovers, 

And charity wax colde ; 
Then 'tis not true religion 55 

That makes thee grief to holde. 

IGNORANCE. 

Chill tell thee my opinion plaine, 

And choul'd that well ye knewe, 
Ich care not for the bible booke ; 

Tis too big to be true. 60 

Our blessed ladyes psalter 

Zhall for my money goe ; 
Zuch pretty prayers, as there bee *, 

The bible cannot zhowe. 



Nowe hast thou spoken trulye, 65 

For in that book indeede 
No mention of our lady, 

Or Romish saint we read : 
For by the blessed Spirit 

That book indited was, 70 

And not by simple persons, 

As was the foolish masse. 

IGNORANCE, 

Cham zure they were not voolishe 

That made the masse, che trowe ; 
Why, man, 'tis all in Latine, 75 

And vools no Latine knowe. 
Were not our fathers wise men, 

And they did like it well ; 
Who very much rejoyced 

To heare the zacring bell 1 80 

TRUTH. 

But many kinges and prophets, 

As I may say to the*, 
Have wisht the light that you have, 

And could it never see : 
For what art thou the better 85 

A Latin song to heare, 
And understandest nothing, 

That they sing in the quiere ! 

* Probably alluding to the illuminated psalters, missals, 



m 2 



164 



THE WANDKRING JEW. 



IONOB \\( 1 . 

O hold thy peace, che pray tliee, 

The noise was passing trim 
To heare the vriers zinging, 

As we did enter in : 
And then to zee the rood-loft 

Zo bravely zet with zaints ; — 
But now to zee them wandring 

My heart with zorrow vaints. 

TnuTir. 
The Lord did give commandment, 

No image thou shouldst make, 
Nor that unto idolatry 

You should your self betake : 
The golden calf of Israel 

Moses did therefore spoile ; 
And Baal's priests and temple 

Were brought to utter foile. 

IGNORANCE. 

But our lady of Walsinghame 

Was a pure and holy zaint, 
And many men in pilgrimage 

Did shew to her complaint. 
Yea with zweet Thomas Becket, 

And many other moe : 
The holy maid of Kent * likewise 

Did many wonders zhowe. 



Such saints are well agreeing 
To your profession sure ; 

And to the men that made them 
So precious and so pure ; 



90 



!>.■> 



100 



105 



110 



115 



The one for being a travtoure, 
Met an untimely death ; 

The other eke for treason 
Did end her hateful breath. 



IGNORANCE. 



Yea, yea, it is no matter, 

Dispraise them how you wille . 
But zure they did much goodnesse ; 

Would they were with us stille ! 
We had our holy water, 

And holy bread likewise, 
And many holy reliques 

We zaw before our eyes. 



And all this while they fed you 

With vaine and empty showe, 
Which never Christ commanded, 

As learned doctors knowe : 
Search then the holy scriptures, 

And thou shalt plainly see 
That headlong to damnation 

They alway trained thee. 

IGNORANCE. 

If it be true, good vellowe, 

As thou dost zay to mee, 
Unto my heavenly fader 

Alone then will I flee : 
Believing in the Gospel, 

And passion of his Zon, 
And with the zubtil papistes 

Ich have for ever done. 



120 



125 



130 



135 



III. 
THE WANDERING JEW. 



The story of the Wandering Jew is of considerable 
antiquity : it had obtained full credit in this part of 
the world before the year 1228, as we learn from 
Matthew Paris. For in that year, it seems, there 
came an Armenian archbishop into England, to visit 
the shrines and reliques preserved in our churches ; 
who, being entertained at the monastery of St. Al- 
bans, was asked several questions relating to his 
country, &c. Among the rest a monk, who sat near 
him, inquired "if he had ever seen or heard of the 
famous person named Joseph, that was so much 
talked of; who was present at our Lord's crucifixion 
and conversed with him, and who was still alive in 
confirmation of the Christian faith." The archbishop 

answered, That the fad was true. And afterwards 
one of his train, who was well known to a servant 

of the abbot's, interpreting his master's words, told 

them in French, " That his lord knew the person 
they spoke of very well : that ho had dined at his 

table hut a little while before he lefl the Easl : that 

he had heen I'oiitms I'ilate's porter, by name Carta- 
philus ; who, when they were dragging JeSOS out of 

• By name Eliz. Barton, executed April 2t, [084. Stow, 

p. arc 



the door of the Judgment-hall, struck him with his 
fist on the back, saying, "Go faster, Jesus, go faster, 
why dost thou linger?" Upon which Jesus looked 
at him with a frown, and said, " I indeed am going, 
but thou shalt tarry till I come." Soon after he was 
converted, and baptized by the name of Joseph. He 
lives for ever, but at the end of every hundred years 
falls into an incurable illness, and at length into a fit 
or ecstacy, out of which when he recovers, he re- 
turns to the same state of youth he was in when Je- 
sus suffered, being then about thirty years of age. 
lie remembers all the circumstances of the death and 
resurrection of Christ, the saints that arose with him, 
the composing of the apostles creed, their preaching, 
and dispersion ; and is himself a very grave and holy 
person." This is the substance of Matthew Paris's 
account, who was himself a monk of St. Alhans ; and 
was living at the time when the Armenian archbishop 
made the above relation. 

Since his tune soveral impostors have appeared at 
intervals under the name and character of the " Wan- 
dering Jew ;" whose several histories may be seen 
in Calmet's dictionary of the Bible. See also the 
Turkish Spy, Vol. II. Book 3. Let. 1. The story 
that is copied in the following ballad is of one, who 



THE WANDERING JEW. 



165 



apj:>t>ured at Hamburgh in 1547, and pretended he 
had been a Jewish shoemaker at the time of Christ's 
crucifixion. — The ballad however seems to be of 
later date. It is preserved in black-letter in the Pe- 
pys collection. 

When as in faire Jerusalem 

Our Saviour Christ did live, 
And for the sins of all the worlde 

His own deare life did give ; 
The wicked Jewes with scoffes and scornes 5 

Did dailye him molest, 
That never till he left his life, 

Our Saviour could not rest. 



When they had crown'd his head with thornes, 

And scourg'd him to disgrace, 10 

In scornfull sort they led him forthe 

Unto his dying place, 
Where thousand thousands in the streete 

Beheld him passe along, 
Yet not one gentle heart was there, 15 

That pityed this his wrong. 

Both old and young reviled him, 

As in the streete he wente, 
And nought he found but churlish tauntes, 

By every ones consente : 20 

His owne deare crosse he bore himselfe, 

A burthen far too great, 
Which made him in the street to fainte, 

With blood and water sweat. 



Being weary thus, he sought for rest, 25 

To ease his burthened soule, 
Upon a stone ; the which a wretch 

Did churlishly controule ; 
And sayd, Awaye, thou King of Jewes, 

Thou shalt not rest thee here ; 30 

Pass on ; thy execution place 

Thou seest no we draweth neare. 

And thereupon he thrust him thence ; 

At which our Saviour sayd, 
I sure will rest, but thou shalt walke, 35 

And have no journey stayed. 
With that this cursed shoemaker, 

For offering Christ this wrong, 
Left wife and children, house and all, 

And went from thence along. 40 

Where after he had seene the bloude 

Of Jesus Christ thus shed, 
And to the crosse his bodye nail'd, 

Awaye with speed he fled 
Without returning backe againe 45 

Unto his dwelling place, 
And wandred up and downe the worlde, 

A runnagate most base. 

No resting could he finde at all, 

No ease, nor hearts content ; 50 

No house, nor home, nor biding place : 

But wandring forth he went 
From towne to towne in foreigne landes, 

With grieved conscience still, 
Repenting for the heinous guilt 55 

Of his fore-passed ill. 



Thus after some fewe ages past 

In wandring up and downe j '< 

He much again desired to see 

Jerusalems renowne, 60 

But finding it all quite destroyd, 

He wandred thence with woe, 
Our Saviours wordes, which he had spoke, 

To verifie and showe. 

" I'll rest, sayd hee, but thou shalt walke," 65 

So doth this wandring Jew 
From place to place, but cannot rest 

For seeing countries newe ; 
Declaring still the power of him, 

Whereas he comes or goes, 70 

And of all things done in the east, 

Since Christ his death, he showes. 

The world he hath still compast round 

And seene those nations strange, 
That hearing of the name of Christ, 75 

Their idol gods doe change : 
To whom he hath told wondrous thinges 

Of time forepast, and gone, 
And to the princes of the worlde 

Declares his cause of moane : 80 

Desiring still to be dissolv'd, 

And yeild his mortal breath ; 
But, if the Lord hath thus decreed, 

He shall not yet see death. 
For neither lookes he old nor young, 85 

But as he did those times, 
When Christ did suffer on the crosse 

For mortall sinners crimes, 

He hath past through many a foreigne place, 

Arabia, Egypt, Africa, 90 

Grecia, Syria, and great Thrace, 

And throughout all Hungaria, 
Where Paul and Peter preached Christ, 

Those blest apostles deare ; 
There he hath told our Saviours wordes, 95 

In countries far and neare. 

And lately in Bohemia, 

With many a German towne ; 
And now in Flanders, as tis thought, 

He wandreth up and downe : 100 

Where learned men with him conferre 

Of those his lingering dayes, 
And wonder much to heare him tell 

His journeyes, and his wayes. 

If people give this Jew an almes, 105 

The most that he will take 
Is not above a groat a time : 

Which he, for Jesus' sake, 
Will kindlye give unto the poore, 

And thereof make no spare, 110 

Affirming still that Jesus Christ 

Of him hath dailye care. 

He ne'er was seene to laugh nor smile, 

But weepe and make great moane j 
Lamenting still his miseries, 115 

And dayes forepast and gone : 
If he heare any one blaspheme, 

Or take God's name in vaine, 
He telles them that they crucifiej 

Their Saviour Christe againe. 120 



THE LYE. 



If vou had seene his death, saith he, 
As these mine eyes have done, 

Ton thousand thousand times would yee 
His torments think upon : 



And suffer for his sake all {mine 
Of torments, and all woes. 

These are his wordes and eke his life 
Whereas he comes or goes. 



1S5 



IV. 

THE LYE. 

BY SIR WALTER RALEIGH, 



— is found in a very scarce miscellany intitled 
M Davison's Poems, or a poeticall Rapsodie divided 

into sixe hooks The 4th impression newly 

corrected and augmented, and put into a forme more 
pleasing to the reader. Lond. 1621, 12mo." This 
poem is reported to have heen written by its cele- 
brated author the night before his execution, Oct. 29. 
1618. But this must be a mistake, for there were at 
least two editions of Davison's poems before that 
time, one in 1608 *, the other in 1611 f. So that 
unless this poem was an after-insertion in the 4th 
edit, it must have been written long before the death 
of Sir Walter : perhaps it was composed soon after 
his condemnation in 1603. See Oldys's Life of Sir 
Walter Raleigh, p. 173, fol. 

Goe, soule, the bodies guest, 
Upon a thankelesse arrant ; 
Feare not to touche the best, 
The truth shall be thy warrant : 

Goe, since I needs must dye, 5 

And give the world the lye. 



Goe tell the court, it glowes 

And shines like rotten wood ; 
Goe tell the church it showes 
What's good, and doth no good : 
If church and court reply, 
Then give them both the lye. 



Tell potentates they live 

Acting by others actions ; 
Not lov'd unlesse they give, 

Not strong but by their factions 
If potentates reply, 
Give potentates the lye. 

Tell men of high condition, 
That rule affairs of state, 
Their purpose is ambition, 
Their practise onely hate ; 
And if they once reply, 
Then give them all the lye. 

Tell them that hrave it most , 

They beg for more by spending, 
Who ni then- greatest cost 
Seek nothing bat commending ; 
Ami if they make reply, 
Spare not to give the lye. 



• c italopn ••! t. Rawlinaon, 17-27. 
' Catalogue oi SK>n colL library. 

ii-l.ml. 



10 



15 



20 



85 



SO 



cither lust »i 



Tell zeale, it lacks devotion ; 

Tell love, it is but lust ; 

Tell time, it is but motion ; 

Tell flesh, it is but dust ; 

And wish them not reply, So 

For thou must give the lye. 

Tell age, it daily wasteth ; 

Tell honour, how it alters ; 
Tell beauty, how she blasteth ; 

Tell favour, how she falters ; 40 

And as they shall reply, 
Give each of them the lye. 

Tell wit, how much it wrangles 
In tickle points of nicenesse ; 
Tell wisedome, she entangles 4:> 

Herselfe in over-wisenesse ; 
And if they do reply, 
Straight give them both the lve. 

Tell physicke of her boldnesse ; 

Tell skill, it is pretension ; 50 

Tell charity of coldness ; 
Tell law, it is contention ; 
And as they yield reply, 
So give them still the lye. 

Tell fortune of her blindnesse ; 55 

Tell nature of decay ; 
Tell friendship of unkindnesse ; 

Tell justice of delay : 

• And if they dare repiv, 
Then give them all the lye. 60 

Tell arts, they have no soundnesse, 

But vary by esteeming ; 
Tell schooles, they want profoundnesse, 
And stand too much on seeming : 

If arts and schooles reply, 65 

Give arts and schooles the lye. 

Tell faith, it's fled the citie ; 

Tell how the countrev erreth , 
Tell, manhood shakes oil' pitie ; 

Tell, vertue least preferreth : 7 ) 

And, if they doe reply, 
Spare not to give the lye. 

Bo, when thou hast, as I 

Commanded thee, done blabbing, 
Although to give the lye 75 

Deserves no less than stabbing, 
Yet stab at thee who will, 
No stab the soule can kill. 



KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. 



16\ 



V. 

VERSES BY KING JAMES I. 



In the firs tdition of this book were inserted, by- 
way of sped, len of his Majesty's poetic talents, 
some punning- verses made on the disputations at 
Sterling ; but it having been suggested to the Editor, 
that the king only gave the quibbling commenda- 
tions in prose, and that some obsequious court- 
rhymer put them into metre * ; it was thought proper 
to exchange them for two sonnets of King James's 
own composition. James was a great versifier, and 
therefore out of the multitude of his poems, we have 
here selected two, which (to shew our impartiality) 
are written in his best and his worst manner. The 
first would not dishonour any writer of that time ; 
the second is a most complete example of the 
Bathos. 

A SONNET ADDRESSED BY KING JAMES TO HIS SOfr 
PRINCE HENRY. 

From King James's Works in folio : where is 
also printed another called his Majesty's " own 
Sonnet;" it would perhaps be too cruel to infer 
from thence that this was not his Majesty's own 
sonnet. 

God gives not kings the stile of Gods in vaine, 
For on his throne his scepter do they swey : 
And as their subjects ought them to obey, 

So kings should feare and serve their God againe. 

If then ye would enjoy a happie reigne, 

Observe the statutes of our heavenly King ; 
And from his law make all your laws to spring ; 

Since his lieutenant here ye should remaine. 



Rewarde the just, be stedfast, true and plaine ; 

Represse the proud, maintayning aye the right ; 

Walke always so, as ever in His sight, 
Who guardes the godly, plaguing the prophane. 

And so ye shall in princely vertues shine, 

Resembling right your mightie King divine. 

A SONNET OCCASIONED BY THE BAD WEATHER WHICH 

HINDERED THE SPORTS AT NEWMARKET 

IN JANUARY 1616. 

This is printed from Drummond of Hawthornden's 
works, folio : where also may be seen some verses 
of Lord Stirling's upon this sonnet, which concludes 
with the finest Anticlimax I remember to have seen. 

How cruelly these catives do conspire 1 

What loathsome love breeds such a baleful band 
Betwixt the cankred King of Creta land *, 

That melancholy old and angry sire, 

And him, who wont to quench debate and ire 5 

Among the Romans, when his ports were clos'd f 1 
But now his double face is still dispos'd, 

With Saturn's help, to freeze us at the fire. 

The earth ore-covered with a sheet of snow, 
Refuses food to fowl, to bird, and beast : 10 

The chilling cold lets every thing to grow, 
And surfeits cattle with a starving feast. 

Curs'd be that love and mought $ continue short, 

Which kills all creatures, and doth spoil our sport. 



VI. 



KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. 



The common popular ballad of " King John and 
the Abbot " seems to have been abridged and mo- 
dernized about the time of James I. from one much 
older, entitled, " King John and the Bishop of Can- 
terbury." The Editor's folio MS. contains a copy 
of this last, but in too corrupt a state to be reprinted ; 
it however afforded many lines worth reviving, 
which will be found inserted in the ensuing stanzas. 

The archness of the following questions and 
answers hath been much admired by our old ballad- 
makers ; for besides the two copies above men- 
tioned, there is extant another ballad on the same 
subject (but of no great antiquity or merit), entitled, 
" King Olfrey and the Abbot. :" Lastly, about the 
time of the civil wars, when the crv ran against the 



intitled, "The Muses welcome to King 



* See a folio, 
James. 

t See the collection of Historical Ballads, 3 vols. 1727. 
Mr. Wise supposes Olfrey to be a corruption of Alfred, in 
his pamphlet concerning the White Horse in Berkshire, 6. 
15. 



bishops, some puritan worked up the same story 
into a very doleful ditty, to a solemn tune, concern- 
ing " King Henry and a Bishop j" with this stinging 
moral : 

" Unlearned men hard matters out can find, 
When learned bishops princes eyes do blind." 

The following is chiefly printed from an ancient 
black-letter copy, to " The tune of Derry down." 

An ancient s.tory He tell you anon 
Of a notable prince, that was called King John ; 
And he ruled England with maine and with might, 
For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right. 

And He tell you a story, a story so merrye, 5 

Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye ; 
How for his house-keeping, and high renowne, 
They rode poste for him to fair London towne. 



t Janus. 



% i. e. may it. 



168 



KINO JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. 



An hundred men, tlu> king did heare Bay, 

The abbot kept in his house every day ; 
And fifty gome chaynee, without any doubt, 
In velvet coates waited the abbot about. 

How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee, 
Thou keepest a farre better house than inee. 
And for thy house-keeping and high renowne, 
1 feare thou work'st treason against my crown. 



Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet, 
10 That a fool he may learne a wise man witt ? 

, Lend me horse, and serving men, and your apparel, 
And I'll ride to London to answere your quarrel. 



15 



My liege, quo' the abbot, I would it were knowne, 

I never spend nothing, but what is my owne ; 
And I trust, your grace will doe me no deere, 

For spending of my owne true-gotten geere. 20 

Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe, 
And now for the same thou needest must d) T e ; 
For except thou canst answer me questions three, 
Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie. 

And first, quo' the king, when Em in this stead, 25 
With my crowne of golde so faire on my head, 
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe, 
Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe. 

Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt, 

I I ow soone I may ride the whole world about. 30 
And at the third question thou must not shrink, 
But tell me here truly what 1 do think. 

O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt, 
Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet : 
But if you will give me but three weekes space, 35 
He do my endeavour to answer your grace. 

Now three weeks space to thee will I give, 
And that is the longest time thou hast to live ; 
For if thou dost not answer my questions three, 
Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee. 40 

Away rode the abbot all sad at that word, 
And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford ; 
But never a doctor there was so wise, 
That could with his learning an answer devise. 

Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold, 45 
And he mett his shepheard a going to fold : 
How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home ; 
What newes do you bring us from good King John ? 

" Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give; 
That 1 hive but three days more to live : 50 

For if I do not answer him questions three, 
My head will be smitten from my bodie. 

The first is to tell him there in that stead, 

\\ ith bia crowne of golds so fair on his head, 

Among all his liege men so noble of birth, 55 

To within one penny of whnt he is worth. 

I he leoonde, to tell him, without any doubt, 

How toone h<- may rule this whole world about : 

And at the third <|tiestion 1 mOBf not shrinke. 

But tell him there truly \\ hat he does thinke.'.' 60 



Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee, 65 

I am like your lordship, as ever may bee : 

And if you will but lend me your gowne, 

There is none shall knowe us in fair London towne. 



Now horses, and serving-men thou shah have, 
With sumptuous array most gallant and brave ; 
■With crazier, and miter, and rochet, and cope, 
Fit to appeare 'fore our fader the pope. 



70 



Now welcome, sire abbot, the king he did sav, 
Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day ; 
For and if thou canst answer my questions three, 7.> 
Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee. 

And first, when thou seest me here in this stead, 
With my crown of golde so fair on my head, 
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe, 
Tell me to one penny what I am worth. 80 

" For thirty pence our Saivour was sold 
Among the false Jewes, as I have bin told ; 
And twenty-nine is the worth of thee, 
For I thinke, thou art one penny v/orser than bee." 

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel*, 85 
1 did not think 1 had been worth so littel ! 
— Now secondly tell me, without any doubt, 
How soone I may ride this whole world about. 

" You must rise with the sun, and ride^with the same, 
Until the next morning he riseth againe ; 90 

And then your grace need not make any doubt, 
But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it ahout." 

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone, 

I did not think, it could be gone so soone ! 

— Now from the third question thou must not shrinke 

But tell me here truly what I do thinke. 96 

" Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry : 
You thinke I'm the abbot of Canterbury ; 
But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain vou may see, 
That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee." J 00 

The king he laughed, and swore by the masse, 
He make thee lord abbot this day in his place ! 
" Now nave, my liege, be not in such speede, 
For alacke 1 can neither write, ne reade." 

Four nobles a week, then T will give thee, 105 

For this merry jest thou hast sliowne unto mee; 
And tell the old abbot when thou comest home, 
1 hou has brought him a pardon from good KioLr 
John. V 

• Meaning probably St. Botolpk 



THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER. 



169 



VII. 



YOU MEANER BEAUTIES. 



This little sonnet was written by Sir Henry 
Wotton, knight, on that amiable princess, Elizabeth 
daughter of James I. and wife of the Elector Pala- 
tine, who was chosen King of Bohemia, Sept. 5, 
16 1 9. The consequences of this fatal election are 
well known : Sir Henry Wotton, who in that and 
the following year was employed in several embassies 
in Germany on behalf of this unfortunate lady, seems 
to have had an uncommon attachment to her merit 
a ad fortunes for he gave away a jewel worth a 
thousand pounds, that was presented to him by the 
emperor, " because it came from an enemy to his 
royal mistress the Queen of Bohemia." See Biog. 
Britan. 

This song is printed from the Reliquice Wottoniaa<z, 
1651, with some corrections from an old MS. copy. 

You meaner beauties of the night, 

That poorlv satisfie our eies 
More by your number, than your light ; 



You common people of the skies, 

What are you when the moon shall rise ? 

Ye violets that first appeare, 

Bv your pure purple mantles known 

Like the proud virgins of the yeare, 
As if the spring were all your own ; 
"What are you when the rose is blown ? 



10 



Ye curious chaunters of the wood, 

That warble forth dame Nature's layes, 

Thinking your passions understood 

By your weak accents : what's your praise, 
Whon Philomell her voyce shall raise ? 1 5 

So when my mistris shal be seene 

In sweetnesse of her looks and minde ; 

Bv virtue first, then chovce a queen ; 
Tell me, if she was not design'd 
Th' eclypse and glory of her kind? 20 



VIII 



THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER. 



This excellent old song, the subject of which is a 
comparison between the manners of the old gentry, 
as still subsisting in the times of Elizabeth, and the 
modern refinements affected by their sons in the 
reigns of her successors, is given, with corrections, 
from an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys col- 
lection, compared with another printed among some 



miscellaneous " poems and songs 
tied, " Le Prince d'Amour," 1660 



in a book inti- 
8vo. 



An old song made by an aged old pate, [estate, 

Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a greate 
That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate, 
And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate ; 

Like an old courtier of the queen's, 

And the queen's old courtier. 

With an old lady, whose anger one word asswages ; 
They every quarter paid their old servants their wages, 
And never knew what belong'd to coachmen, foot- 
men, nor pages, [badges ; 
But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and 
Like an old courtier, 6c c. 

With an old study fill'd full of learned old books, 
With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him 

by bis looks, 
With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks, 
And an old kitchen, that maintain'd half a dozen old 
Like an old courtier, 6c c. [cooks. 



With an old hall, hung about with pikes, gnns, and 

bows, 
With old swords, and bucklers, that had borne many 

shrewde blows, [hose, 

And an old frize coat, to cover his worship's trunk 
And a cup of old sherry, to comfort his copper nose ; 
Like an old courtier, 6cc. 

With a good old fashion, when Chrisrmasse was come, 
To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and 

drum, 
With good chear enough to furnish every old room, 
And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and man 
Like an old courtier, 6cc. [dumb. 

With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel of 
hounds, [grounds, 

That never hawked, nor hunted, but in his own 

Who, like a wise man, kept himself within his own 
bounds, 

And when he dyed gave everv child a thousand good 
Like an old courtier, 6cc. [pounds ; 

But to his eldest son his house and land he assign'd, 
Charging him in his will to keep the old bountifull 
mind, [be kind : 

To be good to his old tenants, and to his neighbours 
But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how he was 
inclin'd ; 

Like a young courtier of the king's, 
And the king's young courtier. 



170 



SIR JOHN SUCKLING'S CAMPAIGNS. 



Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come to his 
land, fmand, 

\\ ho keeps a brace of painted madams at his com- 

And takes up a thousand pound upon his father's! 
land, [stand ; 

And gets drunk in a tavern, till he can neither go nor 
Like a young courtier, cxc. 

With a new-fangled lady, that is dainty, nice, and 
spare, 

Who never knew what belonged to good house- 
keeping, or care, [air, 

Who buves gaudy-color'd fans to play with wanton 

And seven or eight diiierent dressings of other 
women's hair ; 

Like a young courtier, &c. 



With a new-fashion'd hall, built where the old one 
stood, [good, 

Hung round with new pictures, that do the poor no 

With a fine marble chimney, wherein burns neither 
coal nor wood, [ne'er stood ; 

And anew smooth shovelboard, whereon no victuals 
Like a young courtier, &c. 

With a new study, stuft full of pamphlets, and plays, 
And a new chaplain, that swears faster than he prays, 



With a new buttery hatch, that opens once in four 
or five days, [and toys ; 

And a new French cook, to devise fine kickshaws, 
Like a young courtier, <S:c. 

With a new fashion, when Christinas is drawing on, 
On a new journey to London straight we all must 

begone, [John, 

And leave none to keep house, but our new porter 
Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back 

with a stone ; 

Like a young courtier, &c. 

With a new gentleman-usher, whose carriage is 
compleat, [up the meat. 

With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to carry 

W r ith a waiting-gentlewoman, whose dressing is 
very neat, [eat ; 

Who when her lady has din'd, lets the servants not 
Like a young courtier, &cc. 

With new titles of honour bought with his father's 
old gold, [sold; 

For which sundry of his ancestors old manors are 
And this is the course most of our new gallants hold, 
Which makes that good house-keeping is now grown 
so cold, 

Among the young courtiers of the king, 
Or the king's young courtiers. %* 



IX. 
SIR JOHN SUCKLING'S CAMPAIGNE. 



When the Scottish covenanters rose up in arms, 
and advanced to the English borders in 1639, many 
of the courtiers complimented the king by raising 
forces at their own expence. Among these none 
were more distinguished than the gallant Sir John 
Suckling, who raised a troop of horse, so richly ac- 
coutred, that it cost him 12,000Z. The like expen- 
sive equipment of other parts of the army, made the 
king remark, that " the Scots would fight stoutly, if 
it were but for the Englishmen's fine cloaths." 
[Lloyd's Memoirs.] When they came to action, the 
rugged Scots proved more than a match for the fine 
showy English: many of whom behaved remarkably 
ill, and among the rest this splendid troop of Sir 
John Suckling's. 

This humorous pasquil has been generally sup- 
posed to have been written by Sir John, as a banter 
Upon himself. Some of his contemporaries however 
attributed it to Sir John Mennis, a wit of those 
times, among whose poems it is printed in a small 
poetical miscellany, intitled, " Musarum delicise: or 
the Biases recreation, containing several pieces of 
poetique wit, 2d edition. — By sir J. M. [Sir John 

Biennis] and .la. S. (.lames Smith.] London 1656, 

l2mo." [S.e Woods Athene, tl. 897, 418.] In 

that copy is subjoined an additional stanza, which 
probably was written by this Sir John Mennis, viz. 

" J i nt now there is peace, he's return'd to increase, 
111-, money; winch lately he spent-a, 

Bu1 bis losl honour musl lye still in the dust ; 

.\i Bam U k aw ay il went-a. - ' 

bun an ambling nag, 
To Scotland foi to ride-a, 
\\ ith a hundred horse more, all his own he swore, 
To guard him OU ever) side-a. 



No Errant-knight ever went to fight 5 

With halfe so gay a bravada, 
Had you seen but his look, you'ld have sworn on a 

Hee'ld have conquer'd a whole armada. [book, 



The ladies ran all to the windows to see 

So gallant and warlike a sight- a, 
And as he pass'd by, they said with a sigh, 

Sir John, why will you go fight-a? 

But he, like a cruel knight, spurr'd on ; 

His heart would not relent-a, 
For, till he came there, what had he to fear 1 

Or why should he repent-a ? 

The king (God bless him !) had singular hopes 

Of him and all his troop-a : 
The borderers they, as they met him on the way, 

For joy did hollow, and whoop-a. 



10 



'JO 



None lik'd him so well, as his own colonell, 

Who took him for John de \\ ert-a ; 
But when there were shows of gunning and blows, 

My gallant was nothing BO put-a. 



For when the Scots ann\ came within sight, 

And all prepared to light-a, 
lie ran to his tent, they ask'd what he meant, 

lie SWOre he must needs -oc sh*tc-a. 



25 



Ver. 'i'l. John <!<• Wert was a German general of great 
reputation, and the terror <>t the French in il«e reign of 

I ,, \||I. Hence hU name became proverbial in France 

where Ik- wu called De I ert. Sic Bayle'a Dictionary. 



THE DOWNFALL OF CHARING-CROSS. 



17. 



The colonell sent for him hack agen, 

To quarter him in the van-a, 30 

But Sir John did swear, he would not come there, 

To he kill'd the very first man-a. 



To cure his fear, he was sent to the reare, 
Some ten miles back, and more-a; 

Where Sir John did play at trip and away, 
And ne'er saw the enemy more-a. 



X. 



TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON. 



This excellent sonnet, which possessed a high 
degree of fame among the old cavaliers, was written 
by Colonel Richard Lovelace during his confinement 
in the gate-house Westminster : to which he was 
committed by the House of Commons, in April 1642, 
for presenting a petition from the county of Kent, 
requesting them to restore the king to his rights, 
and to settle the government. See Wood's Athenae, 
Vol. II. p. 228, and Lysons's Environs of London, 
Vol. I. p. 109 ; where may be seen at large the 
affecting story of this elegant writer, who after 
having been distinguished for every gallant and 
polite accomplishment, the pattern of his own sex, 
and the darling of the ladies, died in the lowest 
wretchedness, obscurity, and want, in 1658. 

This song is printed from a scarce volume o Lis 
poems infilled, " Lucasta, 1649, 12mo." collated with 
a copy in the Editor's folio MS. 

When love with unconfined wings 

Hovers within my gates, 
And my divine Althea brings 

To whisper at my grates ; 
When I lye tangled in her haire, 5 

And fetter'd with her eye, 
The birds that wanton in the aire, 

Know no such libertye. 



When flowing cups run swiftly round 

With no allaying Thames, 10 

Our carelesse heads with roses crown 'd, 

Our hearts with loyal flames ; 
When thirsty griefe in wine we steepe, 

When healths and draughts goe free, 
Fishes, that tipple in the deepe, 

Know no such libertie. 

When, linnet-like, confined I 

With shriller note shall sing 
The mercy e, sweetness, majestye, 

And glories of my king ; 20 

When I shall voyce aloud how good 

He is, how great should be, 
Th' enlarged windes, that curie the flood, 

Know no such libertie. 

Stone walls doe not a prison make, 2j 

Nor iron barres a cage, 
Mindes, innocent, and quiet, take 

That for an hermitage : 
If I have freedom in my love, 

And in my soule am free, 30 

Angels alone, that soare above, 

Enjoy such libertie. 



XI. 



THE DOWNFALL OF CHARING-CROSS. 



Charing-cross, as it stood before the civil wars, 
was one of those beautiful Gothic obelisks erected 
to conjugal affection by Edward I. who built such a 
one wherever the herse of his beloved Eleanor rested 
in its way from Lincolnshire to Westminster. But 
neither its ornamental situation, the beauty of its 
structure, nor the noble design of its erection (which 
did honour to humanity), could preserve it from the 
merciless zeal of the times : For, in 1647, it was 
demolished by order of the House of Commons, as 
popish and superstitious. This occasioned the fol- 
lowing not unhumourous sarcasm which has been 
often printed among the popular sonnets of those 
times. 

The plot referred to in ver. 17, was that entered 
into by Mr. Waller the poet, and others, with a 
view to reduce the city and tower to the service of 
the king; for which two of them, Nathaniel Tomkins 
and Richard Chaloner suffered death July 5, 1643. 
| V id, Athen. Ox. II. 24. 



Undone, undone the lawyers are, 

They wander about the towne, 
Nor can find the way to Westminster, 

Now Charing-cross is downe : 
At the end of the Strand, they make a stand, 

Swearing they are at a loss, 
And chaffing say, that's not the way, 

They must go by Charing-cross. 

Tbe parliament to vote it down 

Conceived it very fitting, 
For fear it should fall, and kill them all, 

In the house, as they were sitting. 
They were told, god-wot, it had a plot, 

Which made them so hard-hearted, 
To give command, it should not stand, 

But be taken down and carted. 



10 



IS 



Ver 10, with woe-allaying themes, MS. Thames is used 
for water in general. 



172 



LOYALTY CONFINED. 



Mental! of plots, this might have been worse 

For anything 1 know, 
Than that Toinkins, and Chaloner, 

Were hang'd for long agoe. 20 

Our parliament did that prevent, 

And wisely them defended, 
For plots tliev will discover still, 

Before they were intended. 

But neither man, woman, nor child, 25 

Will say, I'm confident, 
They ever heard it speak one word 

Against the parliament. 
An informer swore, it letters bore, 

Or else it had been freed ; 30 

I'll take, in troth, my Bible oath, 

It could neither write, nor read. 

The committee said, that verily 

To popery it was bent ; 
For ought I know it might be so, 35 

For to church it never went. 
What with excise, and such device, 

The kingdom doth begin 
To think you'll leave them ne'er a cross, 

Without doors nor within. 40 



Methinks the common-council shou'd 

Of it have taken pity, 
'Cause, good old cross, it always stood 

So firmly to the city. 
Since crosses you so much disdain, 4? 

Faith, if I were as you, 
For feare the king should rule again, 

I'd pull down Tyburn too. 



%• Whitelocke says, " May 3, 1643, Cheapside 
cross and other crosses were voted down," &c. — But 
this Vote was not put in execution with regard to 
" Charing Cross " till four years after, as appears 
from Lilly's Observations on the Life, &c. of King 
Charles, viz. " Charing-Cross, we know, was pulled 
down, 1647, in June, July, and August. Part of 
the stones were converted to pave before Whitehall. 
I have seen Knife-hafts made of some of the stones, 
which, being well polished, looked like marble." 
Ed. 1715, p. 18, 12mo. 

See an Account of the pulling down Cheapside 
Cross, in the Supplement to Gent. Mag. 1764. 



XII. 



LOYALTY CONFINED. 



This excellent old song is preserved in David Lloyd's 
" Memoires of those that suffered in the cause of 
Charles I." London 1668, fol. p. 96. He speaks of 
it as the composition of a worthy personage, who 
suffered deeply in those times, and was still living 
with no other reward than the conscience of having 
suffered. The author's name he has not mentioned, 
but, if tradition may be credited, this song was 
written by Sir Roger L'Estrange. — Some mistakes 
in Lloyd's copy are corrected by two others, one in 
MS. the other in the " Westminster Drollery, or a 
choice Collection of Songs and Poems, 1671." 
12mo. 

Beat on, proud billows ; Boreas blow ; 

Swell, curled waves, high as Jove's roof ; 
Your incivility doth show, 

That innocence is tempest proof; 
Though surly \ereus frown, ni\ thoughts are calm ; 
I ben .strike, Afflictionj for thy wounds are balm. 6 



Thai which the world miscalls a jail, 

A private closet ii to me i 
\\ bilst a good conscience is my bail, 
\ ml innocence nvj liberty : 
Locke, bars, and solitude, together met, 

.Make me DO prisoner, hut an anchoret. 



I, whilst 1 wisht to he retir'd, 

Into this private room was turiiM | 
As if their wisdoms had conspir'd 
The salamander should be Imin'd : 
Or like those sophists, that would drown a fish 

1 am constrain'd to sutler what I wish. 



10 



15 



The cynick loves his poverty ; 

The pelican her wilderness ; 20 

And 'tis the Indian's pride to be 
Naked on frozen Caucasus : 
Contentment cannot smart, Stoicks we see 
Make torments easie to their apathy. 

These manacles upon my arm 25 

I, as my mistress' favours, wear ; 
And for to keep my ancles warm, 
I have some iron shackles there : 
These walls are but my garrison ; this cell, 
Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel 30 

I'm in the cabinet lockt up, 

Like some high-prized margarite, 
Or, like the great mogul or pope, 

Am cloyster'd up from publick sight : 
Retiredness is a piece of majesty, 35 

And thus proud sultan, I'm as great as thee. 

Here sin for want of food must starve, 

Where tempting objects are not seen? 
And these strong walla do only servo 

To keep vice out, and keep me in : 40 

Malice of kite's grown charitable sure, 
I'm not committed, but am kept secure. 

So he that struck at Jason's life*, 

Thinking t' have made his purpose sure, 

By a malicious friendly knife 45 

Did only wound him to a cure : 

• Sic this remarkable story in Cicero do Nat. Deorum, Lib. 
S, C 38. Clcde Offic. Lib." I. c.30; see also Val. Max. 1,8. 



VERSES BY KING CHARLES I. 



173 



Malice, I see, wants wit ; for what is meant 
Mischief, oft-times proves favour by th' event. 

When once my prince affliction hath, 

Prosperity doth treason seem ; 50 

And to make smooth so rough a path, 
I can learn patience from him : 
Now not to suffer shews no loyal heart, 
When kings want ease subjects must bear a part. 

What though I cannot see my king 55 

Neither in person or in coin ; 
Yet contemplation is a thing 

That renders what I have not, mine : 
My king from me what adamant can part, 
Whom I do wear engraven on my heart ? 60 

Have you not seen the nightingale, 
A prisoner like, coopt in a cage, 



How doth she chaunt her wonted tale 
In that her narrow hermitage ] 
Even then her charming melody doth prove. 
That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove. 



65 



I am that bird, whom they combine 

Thus to deprive of liberty ; 
But though they do my corps confine, 

Yet maugre hate, my soul is free : 70 

And though immur'd, yet can I chirp, and sing 
Disgrace to rebels, glory to my king. 



My soul is free, as ambient air, 

Although my baser part's immew'd, 
Whilst loyal thoughts do still repair 
T' accompany my solitude : 
Although rebellion do my body binde, 
My king alone can captivate my minde. 



XIII. 



VERSES BY KING CHARLES I. 



?;> 



" This prince, like his father, did not confine him- 
self to prose: Bishop Burnet has given us apathetic 
elegy, said to be written by Charles in Carisbrook 
castle [in 1648.] The poetry is most uncouth and 
unharmonious, but there are strong thoughts in it, 
some good sense, and a strain of majestic piety." 
Mr. Walpole's Royal and Noble Authors, vol. I. 

It is in his " Memoirs of the Duke of Hamilton," 
p. 379, that Burnet hath preserved this elegy, which 
he tells us he had from a gentleman, who waited on 
the king at the time when it was written, and copied 
it out from the original. It is there intitled, " Ma- 
jesty in Misery : or an Imploration to the King 
5f Kings." 

Hume hath remarked of these stanzas, " that the 
truth of the sentiment, rather than the elegance of 
the expression, renders them very pathetic." See 
his History, 1763, 4to. Vol. V. pp. 437. 442. which 
is no bad comment upon them. — These are almost 
the only verses known of Charles's composition. 
Indeed a little Poem "On a Quite Conscience," 
printed in the Poetical Calendar, 1763, vol. VIIL is 
attributed to King Charles I ; being reprinted from 
a thin 8vo. published by Nahum Tate, called " Mis- 
cellanea Sacra, or Poems on Divine and Moral 
Subjects." 

Great monarch of the world, from whose power 
The potency and power of kings, [springs 

Record the royal woe my suffering sings ; 

And teach my tongue, that ever did confine 

Its faculties in truth's seraphick line, 5 

To track the treasons of thy foes and mine. 

Nature and law, by thy divine decree, 
( The only root of righteous royaltie) 
With this dim diadem invested me : 

With it, the sacred scepter, purple robe, 10 

The holy unction, and the royal globe : 
Yet am I levell'd with the life of Job. 



The fiercest furies, that do daily tread 

Upon my grief, my grey discrowned head, 

Are those that owe my bounty for their bread. \ 5 

They raise a war, and christen it the cause, 
While sacrilegious hands have best applause, 
Plunder and murder are the kingdom's laws ; 

Tyranny bears the title of taxation, 

Revenge and robbery are reformation, 20 

Oppression gains the name of sequestration. 

My loyal subjects, who in this bad season 
Attend me (by the law of God and reason), 
They dare impeach, and punish for high treason. 

Next at the clergy do their furies frown, 25 

Pious episcopacy must go down, 

They will destroy the crosier and the crown. 

Churchmen are chain'd, and schismaticks are freed, 

Mechanicks preach, and holy fathers bleed, 

The crown is crucified with the creed. 30 

The church of England doth all factions foster, 
The pulpit is usurpt by each impostor, 
Extempore excludes the Paternoster. 

The Presbyter, and Independent seed 

Springs with broad blades. To make religion bleed 

Herod and Pontius Pilate are agreed. 36 

The corner stone's misplac'd by every pavier : 
With such a bloody method and behaviour 
Their ancestors did crucifie our Saviour. 

My royal consort, from whose fruitful womb 40 

So many princes legally have come, 
Is forc'd in pilgrimage to seek a tomb. 

Great Britain's heir is forced into France, 

Whilst on his father's head his foes advance : 

Poor child ! he weeps out his inheritance. 45 



171 



THE SALE OF REBELLIOUS HOUSEHOLD-STUFF. 



With my own power my majesty they wound. 
In the king's name the king himselfa oncrown'd 

So doth the dust destroy the diamond. 

W ith propositions dailv they enchant 

M v people's ears, such as do reason daunt, 50 

And the Almighty will not let me grant. 

They promise to erect my royal stem, 
To make me great, t' advance my diadem, 
If I will first fall down, and worship them ! 

But for refusal they devour my thrones, 55 

Distress my children, and destroy my bones ; 
I fear they'll force me to make bread of stones. 

My life they prize at such a slender rate, 

That in my absence they draw bills of hate, 

To prove the king a traytor to the state. 60 



Felons obtain more privilege than I, 
They are allowed to answer ere they die; 
Tis death for me to ask the reason, why. 



But, sacred Saviour, with thy words I woo 
Thee to forgive, and not be bitter to 65 

Such, as thou know'st do not know what they do. 

For since they from their lord are so disjointed, 
As to contemn those edicts he appointed, 
How can they prize the power of his anointed ? 

Augment my patience, nullifie my hate, 7 

Preserve my issue, and inspire my mate ; 

Yet, though we perish, bless this church and state, 



XIV. 
THE SALE OF REBELLIOUS HOUSEHOLD-STUFF. 



This sarcastic exultation of triumphant loyalty is 
printed from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys 
collection, corrected by two others, one of which "is 
preserved in " A choice collection of 120 loyal songs. 
&c." 1684, 12mo.— To the tune of Old Simon the 
king. 

Rebellion hath broken up house, 

And hath left me old lumber to sell ; 
Come hither, and take your choice, 

I'll promise to use you well : 
Will you buy the old speaker's chair ? 5 

Which was warm and easie to sit in, 
And oft hath been clean'd I declare, 

When as it was fouler than fitting. 
Says old Simon the king, &c. 

Will you buy any bacon-flitches, 10 

The fattest, that ever were spent ? 
They're the sides of the old committees, 

Fed up in the long parliament. 
Here's a pair of bellows, and tongs, 

And for a small matter I'll sell ye 'urn ; 15 

They are made of the presbyters lungs, 

To blow up the coals of rebellion. 
Says old Simon, &c. 

I had thought to have given them once 

To some black-smith for his forge ; 20 

But now I have considered on't, 

They are consecrate to the church; 
So I "11 give them unto some quire, 

Tiny will make the big organs roar, 
And tli.' little pipes to squeeke higher, 25 

1 ban ever they could before. 
Says old Simon, &c. 

Here's n couple of stools for sale, 
One's square, and t'other is round ; 

BetWIXt them both the tail 30 

Of the Hump fell down to the ground. 

Will you buy the states council-table, 



Which was made of the good wain Scot 1 
The frame was a tottering Babel 

To uphold the Independent plot. V> 

Says old Simon, «S:c. 

Here's the beesom of Reformation, 

Which should have made clean the floor, 
But it swept the wealth out of the nation, 

And left us dirt good store. 10 

Will you buy the states spinning-wheel, 

Which spun for the roper's trade ! 
But better it had stood still, 

For now it has spun a fair thread. 

Says old Simon, &c. 45 

Here's a glyster-pipe well try'd, 

Which was made of a butcher's stump *, 
And has been safely apply'd, 

To cure the colds of the rump. 
Here's a lump of Pilgrim's-Salve, 50 

Which once was a justice of peace, 
Who Noll and the Devil did serve; 

But now it is come to this. 
Says old Simon, &c. 

Here's a roll of the states tobacco, 55 

If any good fellow will take it ; 
No Virginia had e'er such a smack-o. 

And I'll tell you how they did make it : 
'Tis th' Engagement, and Covenant cookt 

Up with the Abjuration oath ; 6(1 

And many of them, that have took't, 

Complain it was foul in the mouth. 
Says old Simon, &c. 

Yet the ashes may happily serve 

To cure the scab of the nation, 0^ 

Whene'er 't has an itch to swerve 

To Rebellion by innovation. 



• Alluding probably to Major-General Harrison, a but 
encr's mb, who assisted Cromwell in turning out ilie luug 
parliament April 'zo, 1003. 



THE BAFFLED KNIGHT, OR LADY'S POLICY. 



175 



A Lanthorn here is to be bought, 
The like was scarce ever gotten, 

For many plots it has found out 
Before they ever were thought on 
Says old Simon, &c. 

Will you buy the Rump's great saddle, 

With which it jocky'd the nation? 
And here is the bitt, and the bridle, 

And curb of Dissimulation : 
And here's the trunk-hose of the Rump, 

And their fair dissembling cloak, 
And a Presbyterian jump, 

With an Independent smock, 
Says old Simon, &c. 

Will you buy a Conscience oft turn'd, 
Which serv'd the high-court of justice, 

And stretch'd until England it mourn'd : 
But hell will buy that if the worst is. 

Here's Joan Cromwell's kitching-stuff tub, 
Wherein is the fat of the Rumpers, 



With which old Noll's horns she did rub, 
When he was got drunk with false bumpers. 

Says old Simon, &c. 90 



7 



80 



Here's the purse of the public faith ; 

Here's the model of the Sequestration, 
When the old wives upon their good troth, 

Lent thimbles to ruine the nation. 
Here's Dick Cromwell's Protectorship, 

And here are Lambert's commissions, 
And here is Hugh Peters his scrip 

Cramm'd with the tumultuous petitions. 
Says old Simon, &c. 

And here are old Noll's brewing vessels, 

And here are his dray, and his slings ; 
Here are Hewson's awl, and his bristles; 

With diverse other odd things : 
And what is the price doth belong 

To all these matters before ye ? 
I'll sell them all for an old song, 

And so I do end my story. 
Says old Simon, &c. 



95 



100 



105 



XV. 



THE BAFFLED KNIGHT, OR LADY'S POLICY, 



Given (with some corrections) from a MS. copy, 
and collated with two printed ones in Roman cha- 
racter in the Pepys dollection. 

There was a knight was drunk with wine, 

A riding along the way, sir ; 
And there he met with a lady fine, 

Among the cocks of hay, sir. 

Shall you and I, O lady faire, 5 

Among the grass lye down-a : 
And I will have a special care 

Of rumpling of your gowne-a. 

Upon the grass there is a dewe, 

Will spoil my damask gowne, sir : 10 

My gowne and kirtle they are newe, 

And cost me many a crowne, sir. 

I have a cloak of scarlet red, 

Upon the ground I'll throwe it ; 
Then, lady faire, come lay thy head : 15 

We'll play, and none shall knowe it. 

O yonder stands my steed so free 

Among the cocks of hay, sir ; 
And if the pinner should chance to see, 

He'll take my steed away, sir. 20 

Upon my finger I have a ring 

Its made of finest gold-a, 
And, lady, it thy steed shall bring 

Out of the pinner's fold-a. 

Ver. 86. This was a cant name given to Cromwell's wife 
by the Royalists, though her name was Elizabeth. She was 
taxed with exchanging the kitchen-stuff for the candles used 
in the Protector's household, &c. See Gent. Mag. for March 
1788, p. 242. 



O go with me to my father's hall ; 

Fair chambers there are three, sir : 
And you shall have the best of all, 

And I'll your chamberlaine bee, sir. 

He mounted himself on his steed so tail, 
And her on her dapple gray, sir : 

And there they rode to her father's hall, 
Fast pricking along the way, sir. 

To her father's hall they arrived strait ; 

'Twas moated round about-a ; 
She slipped herself within the gate, 

And lockt the knight without-a. 

Here is a silver penny to spend, 
And take it for your pain, sir ; 

And two of my father's men I'll send 
To wait on you back again, sir. 

He from his scabbard drew his brand, 
And wiped it upon his sleeve-a ! 

And cursed, he said, be every man, 
That will a maid believe-a ! 



She drew a bodkin from her haire, 
And whip'd it upon her gown-a ; 

And curs'd be every maiden faire, 
That will with men lye down-a ! 



Ver. 94. See Grey's Hudibras, Pt. I, Cant. 2, ver. 570, 
&c. V. 100, 102, Cromwell had in his younger years fol- 
lowed the brewing trade at Huntingdon. Col. Hewson is 
said to have been originally a cobler. 



25 



30 



35 



40 



45 



r--> 



THE BAFFLED KNKJIir, OR LADY'S POLICY. 



A herb there is, that lowly grows, 

And BOme do call it rue, sir : 50 

The smallest dunghill cock that crows, 
Would make a capon of you, sir. 

A flower there is, that shineth bright, 

Some call it marv-gold-a : 
lie that wold not when he might, 55 

He shall not when he wold-a. 

The knight was riding another day, 

With cloak and hat and feather : 
He met again with that lady gay, 

Who was angling in the ri^er. CO 

Now, lady faire, I've met with you, 

You shall no more escape me ; 
Remember, how not long agoe 

You falsely did intrap me. 

The lady blushed scarlet red, 65 

And trembled at the stranger : 
How shall I guard my maidenhead 

From this approaching danger? 

He from his saddle down did light, 

In all his riche attyer ; 70 

And cryed, As I am a noble knight, 

I do thy charms admyer. 

Pie took the lady by the hand, 

Who seemingly consented ; 
And would no more disputing stand : 7."> 

She had a plot invented. 

Looke yonder, good sir knight, I pray, 

Methinks I now discover 
A riding upon his dapple gray, 

My former constant lover. 80 

On tip-toe peering stood the knight, 

Fast by the rivers brink-a ; 
The lady pusht with all her migh : 

Sir knight, now swim or sink-a. 

O'er head and ears he plunged in, 85 

The bottom faire he sounded ; 
Then rising up, he cried amain, 

Help, helpe, or else I'm drownded ! 

Now, fare-you-well, sir knight, adieu ! 

You see what comes of fooling : 00 

That is the fittest place for you ; 

Your courage wanted cooling. 

Bn many days, in her fathers park, 

dust at the close of eve-a, 
Again she met with her angry sparke ; 9b 

Whioh made this lady grieve-a. 

Falsa lady, here thoa'rl in my powre, 

And no one now can hear thee : 
And thou afaalt sorel\ rue the hour, 

That e'er thou dar'dst to jeer me. I Ifl 

I pray, sir knight, be not so warm 

With a young silly inaid-a : 
I vow and swear I thought no harm, 
'Twas a gentle jest I playd-a. 



A gentle jest, in soothe he cry'd, 10.") 

To tumble me in and leave me! 
What if I had in the river dy'd 1 

That fetch will not deceive me. 

Once more I'll pardon thee this day, 

Tho' injur'd out of measure ; 1 10 

But theu prepare without delay 

To yield thee to my pleasure. 

Well then, if I must grant your suit, 
Yet think of your boots and spurs, sir : 

Let me pull off both spur and boot, 1 1 r> 

Or else you cannot stir, sir. 

He set him down upon the grass, 

And begg'd her kind assistance ; 
Now, smiling thought this lovely lass, 

I'll make you keep your distance. 1 L 2 • 

Then pulling off his boots half-way; 

Sir knight, now I'm your betters : 
Y'ou shall not make of me your prey ; 

Sit there like a knave in fetters. 

The knight, when she had served him soe, I*/i 

He fretted, fum'd, and grumbled : 
For he could neither stand nor goe, 

But like a cripple tumbled. 

Farewell, sir knight, the clock strikes ten, 

Yet do not move nor stir, sir: 1;>: 

I'll send you my father's serving men, 
To pull off your boots and spurs, sir. 

This merry jest you must excuse, 

You are but a stingless nettle : 
You'd never have stood for boots or shoes, IS 

Had you been a man of mettle. 

All night in grievous rage he lay, 

Rolling upon the plain-a ; 
Next morning a shepherd past that way, 

Who set him right again-a. I 1° 

Then mounting upon his steed so tall, 

By hill and dale he swore-a : 
I'll ride at once to her father's hall ; 

She shall escape no more-a. 

I'll take her father by the beard, II 

I'll challenge all her kindred ; 
Each dastard soul shall stand aft'eard ; 

My wratli shall no more be hindred. 

He rode unto her father's house, 

Which every side was moated: l.">i 

The lady heard his furious vows, 

And all his vengeance noted. 

Thought shee, sir knight, to quench your rage, 

Once more I will endeavour : 
This water shall your furv 'swage, l.?5 

Or elso it shall burn for ever. 

Then Paining penitence and feare, 

She did invite a parley : 
Sir knight, if you'll forgive me heare, 

Henceforth I'll love you dearly. 16( 



OLD TOM OF BEDLAM. 



177 



My father he is now from home, 

And I am all alone, sir : 
Therefore a-cross the water come ; 

And I am all your own, sir. 

False maid, thou canst no more deceive ; 163 

I scorn the treacherous hait-a : 
If thou would'st have me thee believe, 

Now open me the gate-a. 

The bridge is drawn, the gate is barr'd, 

My father he has the keys, sir ; 170 



But I have for my love prepar'd 
A shorter way and easier. 

Over the moate I've laid a plank 

Full seventeen feet in measure . 
Then step a-cross to the other bank, 175 

A.nd there we'll take our pleasure. 

These words she had no sooner spoke, 

But strait he came tripping over : 
The plank was saw'd, it snapping broke ; 

And sous'd the unhappy lover. 180 



XVI. 



WHY SO PALE? 



From Sir John Suckling's Poems. This sprightly 
knight was born in 1613, and cut off by a fever about 
the 29th year of his age. See above, Song IX. of 
this book. 

Why so pale and wan. fond lover? 

Prethee, why so pale ? 
Will, when looking well can't move her, 

Looking ill prevail ? 

Prethee why so pale ! 5 



Why so dull and mute, young sinner ? 

Prethee why so mute ? 
Will, when speaking well can't win her, 

Saying nothing doe't ? 

Prethee why so mute ? 

Quit, quit for shame ; this will not raovp 

This cannot take her ; 
If of herself she will not love 

Nothing can make her. 

The devil take her! 



10 



15 



XVII. 



OLD TOM OF BEDLAM. 



MAD SONG THE FIRST 



It is worth attention, that the English have more 
songs and ballads on the subject of madness, than 
any of their neighbours. Whether there be any 
truth in the insinuation, that we are more liable to 
this calamity than other nations, or that our native 
gloominess hath peculiarly recommended subjects of 
this cast to our writers ; we certainly do not 
find the same in the printed collections of French, 
Italian Songs, &c. 

Out of a much larger quantity, we have selected 
half a dozen " Mad Songs" for this work. The 
three first are originals in their respective kinds ; 
the merit of the three last is chiefly that of imitation. 
They were written at considerable intervals of time ; 
but we have here grouped them together, that the 
reader may the better examine their comparative 
merits. He may consider them as so many trials of 
skill in a very peculiar subject, as the contest of so 
many rivals to shoot in the bow of Ulysses. The 
two first were probably written about the beginning 
of the last century ; the third about the middle of it ; 
the fourth and sixth towards the end ; and the fifth 
within the eighteenth century. 

This is given from the Editor's folio MS. com- 
pared with two or three old printed copies. — With 
regard to the author of this old rhapsody, in Walton's 
Complete Angler, cap. 3. is a song in praise of 



angling, which the author says was made at his re- 
quest "by Mr. William Basse, one that has made 
the choice songs of the ' Hunter in his Career,' and 
of 'Torn of Bedlam/and many others of note," p. 84. 
See Sir John Hawkins's curious edition, 8vo. of 
that excellent old book. 

Forth from my sad and darksome cell, 

Or from the deepe abysse of hell, 

Mad Tom is come into the world again e 

To see if he can cure his distempered braine. 

Feares and cares oppresse my soule ; 
Harke, howe the angrye Fureys houle I 
Pluto laughes, and Proserpine is gladd 
To see poore naked Tom of Bedlam madd. 

Through the world 1 wander night and day 

To seeke my straggling senses, 10 

In an angry moode I mett old Time, 
With his pentarchye of tenses : 

When me he spyed, 

Away he hyed, 
For time will stay for no man : 15 

In vaine with cryes 

I rent the skyes, 
, For pity is not common. 



178 



THE DISTRACTED PURITAN. 



Cold and comfortless 1 lye i 

Helpe, oh helpe ! orelseldy! 20 

I huk*' ! 1 heare Apollo's leame, 

The carman 'gins to whistle ; 
Chast Diana bends her bowe, 

The boare begins to bristle. 

Come, Vulcan, with tools and with tackles, 25 
To knocke oft my troublesome shackles ; 
Bid Charles make ready his waine 
To fetch me my senses againe. 

Last ni«ht I heard the dog-star bark ; 
Mars met Venus in the darke ; 30 

Limping Vulcan bet an iron barr, 
And i'uriouslye made at the god of war : 

Mars with his weapon laid about, 
But Vulcan's temples had the gout, 
For his broad horns did so hang in his light, 35 
lie could not see to aim his blowes aright : 



Mrrcurye, the nimble post of heaven, 

Stood still to see the quarrell ; 
Gorrel-bellyed Bacchus, gyant-like, 

Bestryd a strong-beere barrell. 40 

To mee he dranke, 

1 did him thanke, 
But 1 could get no cyder ; 

He dranke whole butts 

Till he burst his gutts, 4t> 

But mine were ne'er the wyder. 

Poore naked Tom is very drye : 
A little drinke for charitye ! 
llarke, I hear Acteon's borne! 

The huntsmen whoop and hallowe : 50 

Ringwood, Royster, Bowman, Jowler, 

All the chase do followe. 

The man in the moone drinkes clarret, 

Eates powder'd beef, turnip, and carret, 

But a cup of old Malaga sack io 

Will fire the bushe at his backe. 



XVIII. 



THE DISTRACTED PURITAN. 



MAD SONG THE SECOND, 



was written about the beginning of the seven- 
teenth century by the witty bishop Corbet, and is 
printed from the third edition of Ins poems, l c 2mo. 
1672, compared with a more ancient copy in the 
Editor's folio MS. 

Am I mad, noble Festus, 
When zeal and godly knowledge 
1 lave put me in hope 
To deal with the pope, 
As well as the best in the college ? 5 

Boldly I preach, hate a cross, hate a surplice, 

Mitres, copes, and rochets ; 
Come hear me pray nine times a day, 
And fill your heads with crochets. 



In the house of pure Emanuel * 
I had my education, 

Where my friends surmise 

I dazel'd my eyes 
With the sight of revelation. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

They bound me like a bedlam, 
They lash'd my four poor quarters 

\\ lulst this I endure, 

Faith makes me sure 
To be one of Poxes martyrs. 
Boldly I preach, Sec. 

'I bess injurie i I Buffer 

Through antichrist's perswasion: 
Take off this chain, 
Neither Rome nor Spain 

Can resist my strong invasion. 
Boldly I preach, See. 



u> 



20 



• Bmanoel College, Cambridge, «ai originally a semi- 
nar] of Puritan*. 



Of the beast's ten horns (God bless us ') 25 

1 have knock'd oft' three already ; 

If they let me alone 

I'll leave him none : 
But they say I am too heady. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

When I sack'd the seven -hill'd city, 30 

1 met the great red dragon ; 

1 kept him aloof 

With the armour of proof, 
Though here I have never a rag on. 
Boldly 1 preach, &c. 

With a fiery sword and target, • 3b 

There fought I with this monster : 

But the sons of pride 

My zeal deride, 
And all my deeds misconster. 
Boldly 1 preach, &c. 

I un-hors'd the Whore of Babel, 40 

With the lance of Inspiration ; 

1 made her stink, 

And spill the drink 
In her cup of abomination. 
Boldly 1 preach, &c. 

1 have seen two in a vision 45 

With a living book* between them. 



• Alluding to sonic visionary exposition of Zcch. ch. v. 
ver. 1 ; or, it the date <>i tiiia Bong would permit, one might 
euppoic ii aimed at one Coppc, a strange enthusiast, whose 
life may be seen in Wood's Allien. \o\. II, p. 501. He was 
author of a book, intitled, " The Fiery Flying Roll:" and 
afterwards published a Recantation, part of whose title is, 
"The Fierj Plying Roll's Wings cUpt,"&c. 



THE LUNATIC LOVER. 



179 



I have been in despair 
Five times in a year, 
And been cur'd by reading Greenham 
Boldly 1 preach, &c. 

I observ'd in Perkin's tables + 
Tbe black line of damnation ; 

Those crooked veins 

So stuck in my brains, 
That I fear'd my reprobation. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

In the holy tongue of Canaan 
I plac'd my chiefest pleasure : 



50 



55 



Till I prick'd my foot 
With an Hebrew root, 
That I bled beyond all measure. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

I appear'd before the archbishop *, 60 

And all the high commission ; 
I gave him no grace, 
But told him to his face, 
That he favour'd superstition. 

Boldly I preach, hate a cross, hate a surplice, 

Mitres, copes, and rochets : 66 

Come hear me pray nine times a day, 
And fill your heads with crotchets. 



XIX. 
THE LUNATIC LOVED, 

MAD SO-NG THE THIRD, 



is given from an old printed copy in the British 

Museum, compared with another in the Pepys col- 
lection ; both in black letter. 

Grim king of tbe ghosts, make haste, 

And bring hither all your train ; 
See how the pale moon does waste, 

And just now is in the wane. 
Come, you night-hags, with all your charms, 5 

And revelling witches away, 
And hug me close in your arms ; 

To you my respects I'll pay. 

I'll court you, and think you fair, 

Since love does distract my brain : 10 

I'll go, I'll wedd the night-mare, 

And kiss her, and kiss her again : 
But if she prove peevish and proud, 

Then, a pise on her love ! let her go ; 
I'll seek me a winding shroud, 15 

And down to the shades below. 

A lunacy sad I endure, 

Since reason departs away ; 
I call to those hags for a cure, 

As knowing not what I say. 20 

The beauty, whom I do adore, 

Now slights me with scorn and disdain ; 
I never shall see her more : 

Ah ! how shall I bear my pain ! 

I ramble, and range about 25 

To find out my charming saint : 
"While she at my grief does flout, 

And smiles at my loud complaint. 



* See Greenham's Works, fol. 1605, particularly the tract 
intitled " A sweet Comfort for an Afflicted Conscience." 

+ See Perkins's Works, fol. 1616, vol. I, p. 11; where is 
a large half sheet folded, containing, " A survey, or table, 
declaring the order of the causes of salvation and damnation, 
&c." the pedigree of damnation being distinguished by a 
broad black zig-zag line. 



Distraction I see is my doom, 

Of this I am now too sure ; 30 

A rival is got in my room, 

While torments I do endure. 

Strange fancies do fill my head, 

While wandering in despair, 
I am to the desarts lead, 35 

Expecting to find her there. 
Methinks in a spangled cloud 

I see her enthroned on high ; 
Then to her I crie aloud, 

And labour to reach the sky. 40 

When thus I have raved awhile, 

And wearyed myself in vain, 
I lye on the barren soil, 

And bitterly do complain. 
Till slumber hath quieted me, 45 

In sorrow I sigh and weep ; 
The clouds are my canopy 

To cover me while I sleep. 

I dream that my charming fair 

Is then in my rival's bed, 50 

Whose tresses of golden hair 

Are on the fair pillow bespread. 
Then this doth my passion inflame, 

I start, and no longer can lie : 
Ah ! Sylvia, art thou not to blame 55 

To ruin a lover 1 I cry. 

Grim king of the ghosts, be true, 

And hurry me hence away, 
My languishing life to you 

A tribute I freely pay. 6C 

To the Elysian shades I post 

In hopes to be freed from care, 
Where many a bleeding ghost 

Is hovering in the air. 

• Abp. Laud. 



n 2 



180 



THE DISTRACTED LOVER. 



XX. 



THE LADY DISTRACTED WITH LOVE, 



MAD SONG THE FOURTH, 



was originally sung in one of Tom D'Urfey's 

comedies of Don Quixote, acted in 1694 and 1696 : 
and probably composed by bimself. In tbe several 
stanzas, tbe autbor represents bis pretty Mad-woman 
as 1. sullenly mad ; 2. mirtbfully mad : 3. melan- 
choly mad : 4. fantastically mad : and 5. stark mad. 
Botb tbis and Num. XXII. are printed from D'Urfey's 
" Pills to purge Melancholy," 1719, vol. 1. 
FnoM rosie bowers, where sleeps the god of love, 

Hither ye little wanton cupids fly ; 
Teach me in soft melodious strains to move 

With tender passion my heart's darling joy : 
Ah ! let the soul of musick tune my voice, 5 

To win dear Strephon, who my soul enjoys. 

Or, if more influencing 

Is to be brisk and airy, 
With a step and a bound, 
With a frisk from the ground, 10 

I'll trip like any fairy. 

As once on Ida dancing 

Were three celestial bodies : 
With an air, and a face, 
And a shape, and a grace, 15 

I'll charm, like beauty's goddess. 



Ah ! 'tis in vain ! 'tis all, 'tis all in vain ! 
Death aud despair must end the fatal pain : 
Cold, cold despair, disguis'd like snow and rain, 
Falls on my breast ; bleak winds in tempests blow ; 
My veins all shiver, and my fingers glow : 21 

My pulse beats a dead march for lost repose, 
And to a solid lump of ice my poor fond heart is 
froze. 

Or say, ye powers, my peace to crown, 

Shall I thaw myself, and drown 25 

Among the foaming billows 1 
Increasing all with tears I shed, 

On beds of ooze, and crystal pillows, 
Lay down, lay down my love-sick head ? 

No, no, I'll strait run mad, mad, mad ; 30 

That soon my heart/will warm ; 
When once the sense is fled, is fled, 

Love has no power to charm, 
Wild thro' the woods I'll fly, I'll fly, 

Robes, locks shall thus be tore ! 35 

A thousand, thousand times I'll dye 

Ere thus, thus in vain, — ere thus in vain adore. 



XXI. 
THE DISTRACTED LOVER, 

MAD SONG THE FIFTH, 



— was written by Henry Carey, a celebrated com- 
poser of music at the beginning of the eighteenth 
century, and author of several little Theatrical Enter- 
tainments, which the reader may find enumerated in 
the " Companion to the Play-house," &c. The 
sprightliness of this songster's fancy could not pre- 
serve him from a very melancholy catastrophe, which 
was effected by his own hand. In his Poems, 4to. 
Lond. 1729, may be seen another mad song of this 
author, beginning thus : 

" Gods ' I can never tbis endure, 
Death alone must be my cure," &c. 

I oo to the Elysian shade, 

Wlnre m.ik.w ne'er ■hall wound me; 
Where nothing shall my rest invade, 

Bttl joy shall slill surround me. 

I fly from (Vila's cold disdain, 5 

From her disdain 1 ll\ ; 

She is the cause of all my pain, 
Fof her alone 1 die. 



Her eyes are brighter than the mid-day sun, 
When he but half his radiant course has run, 10 

When his meridian glories gaily shine, 
And gild all nature with a warmth divine. 



See yonder river's flowing tide, 

\\ hieh now so full appears ; 
Those streams, that do so swiftly glide, 15 

Are nothing but my tears. 

There I have wept till I could weep no more, 

And curst mine eyes, when they have wept their 

store : 
Then, like tbe clouds, that rob tbe azure main, 
I've drain'd the flood to weep it back again. 20 



Pity my pains, 

Ye gentle swains ! 
Cover me with ice and snow, 
I scorch, I burn, I flame, I glow I 



LILLI BURLERO. 



181 



Euries, tear me, 

Quickly bear me 
To the dismal shades below ! 

Where yelling, and howling, 

And grumbling, and growling 
Strike the ear with horrid woe. 

Hissing snakes, 
Eiery lakes 



25 



30 



Would be a pleasure, and a cure 
Not all the hells, 
Where Pluto dwells, 

Can give such pain as I endure 

To some peaceful plain convey me, 
On a mossey carpet lay me, 
Fan me with ambrosial breeze, 
Let me die, and so have ease ! 



40 



XXII. 
THE FRANTIC LADY, 

MAD SONG THE SIXTH. 



This, like Number XX. was originally sung in 
one of D'Urfey's Comedies of Don Quixote, (first 
acted about the year 1694) and was probably com- 
posed by that popular songster, who died Feb. ,26, 
1723. 

This is printed in the " Hive, a Collection of 
Songs," 4 vols. 1721, l2mo. where may be found 
two or three other mad songs not admitted into 
these volumes. 

I burn, my brain consumes to ashes ! 
Each eye-ball too like lightning flashes ! 
Within my breast there glows a solid fire, 
Which in a thousand ages can't expire ! 

Blow, blow, the winds' great ruler ! 5 

Bring the Po, and the Ganges hither, 
5 Tis sultry weather ; 



Pour them all on my soul, 
It will hiss like a coal, 
But be never the cooler. 10 

'Twas pride hot as hell, 
That first made me rebell, 
From love's awful throne a curst angel I fell ; 
And mourn now my fate, 
Which myself did create : 15 

Fool, fool, that consider'd not when I was well ! 

Adieu! ye vain transporting joys ! 
Off ye vain fantastic toys ! 
That dress this face — this body — to allure ! 
Bring me daggers, poison, fire ! 20 

Since scorn is turn'd into desire. 
All hell feels not the rage, which I, poor I, endure. 



XXIII. 



LILLI BURLERO. 



The following rhymes, slight and insignificant as 
they may now seem, had once a more powerful effect 
than either the Philippics of Demosthenes, or Cicero ; 
and contributed not a little towards the great revolu- 
tion in 1688. Let us hear a contemporary writer. 

" A foolish ballad was made at that time, treating 
the Papists, and chiefly the Irish, in a very ridiculous 
manner, which had a burden said to be Irish words, 
' Lero, lero, lilliburlero,' that made an impression on 
the [king's] army, that cannot be imagined by those 
that saw it not. The whole army, and at last the 
people, both in city and country, were singing it 
perpetually. And perhaps never had so slight a 
thing so great an effect.'' — Burnet. 

It was written, or at least republished, on the 
Earl of Tyrconnel's going a second time to Ireland 
in October 1688. Perhaps it is unnecessary to 
mention, that General Richard Talbot, newly created 
Earl of Tyrconnel, had been nominated by King 
James II. to the lieutenancy of Ireland in 1686, on 
account of his being a furious papist, who had 
recommended himself to his bigoted master by his 
arbitrary treatment of the protestants in the pre- 
ceding year, when only lieutenant general, and 



whose subsequent conduct fully justified his ex- 
pectations and their fears. The violence of his 
administration may be seen in any of the histories of 
those times : particularly in Bishop King's " State 
of the Protestants in Ireland," 1691, 4to. 

Lilliburlero and Bullen-a-lah are said to have been 
the words of distinction used among the Irish Pa- 
pists in their massacre of the Protestants in 1641. 

Ho ! broder Teague, dost hear de decree ? 

Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. 
Dat we shall have a new deputie, 
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. 

Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la, 5 
Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la. 



Ho ! bv shaint Tyburn, it is de Talbote : 

Lilli, &c. 
And he will cut de Englishmen's troate. 

Lilli, &c. 



10 



Ver. 7, Ho by my shoul, al. ed. 



182 



THE BRAES OF YARROW. 



Doui;h by mv shoul de English do praat, 

ism, &c 

De law's on dare side, and Creish knows what. 
Lilli, &c. 

But if dispence do come from de pope, 

Lilli, &c. 
We'll hang Magna Charta and dem in a rope. 

Lilli, &c. 

For de good Talbot is made a lord, 

Lilli, &c. 
And with brave lads is coming aboard : 

Lilli, &c. 

Who all in France have taken a sware, 
Lilli, &c. 
I Dat dey will have no protestant heir. 
Lilli, &c. 

Ara ! but why does he stay behind ? 

Lilli, &c. 
Ho ! by my shoul 'tis a protestant wind. 

Lilli, &c. 

But see de Tyrconnel is now come ashore, 

Lilli, &c. 
And we shall have commissions gillore. 

Lilli, &c. 



20 



25 



30 



| And he dat will not go to de mass, 3 J ' 

Lilli, &c. 
I Shall be turn out, and look like aj ass. 

Lilli, &c. 

Now, now de hereticks all go down, 

Lilli, kc. 40 

By Chrish and shaint Patrick, de nation's our own. 

Lilli, &cc. 

Dare was an old prophesy found in a bog, 

Lilli, &c. 
" Ireland shall be rul'd by an ass and a dog." 45 

Lilli, &c. 

And now dis prophesy is come to pass, 

Lilli, &c. 
For Talbot's de dog, and Ja*» is de ass. 

Lilli, &c. 

* # * The foregoing song is attributed to Lord 
Wharton in a small pamphlet, ir"itled, " A true re- 
lation of the several facts and circumstances of the 
intended riot and tumult on Queen Elizabeth's birth- 
day, &c." third edition, London, 1712, price 2d. — 
See p. 5, viz. "A late Viceroy [of Ireland,] who has 
so often boasted himself upon his talent for mischief, 
invention, lying, and for making a certain Lillibur- 
lero Song ; with which, if you will believe himself, 
he sung a deluded prince out of three kingdoms." 



XXIV. 
Till: BItAES OF YARROW, 

IN IMITATION OF THE ANCIENT SCOTS MANNER, 



was written by William Hamilton, of Bangour, 

Esq. who died March 25, 1754, aged 50. It is 
printed from an elegant edition of his Poems, pub- 
lished at Edinburgh, 1760, 12mo. This song was 
written in imitation of an old Scottish Ballad on a 
similar subject, with the same burden to each stanza. 

A. Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, 
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow, 

Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, 
And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow. 

B. Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride ? 5 
Where gat ye that winsome marrow ? 

A. I gat her where I dare na weil be seen, 
Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. 

Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny bride, 

Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow ; 10 

Nor let thy heart lament to leive, 

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. 

B. Why does she weep, thy bonny bonnv bride? 
Why docs she weep thy winsome marrow I 

And why dare ye nae mair weil be seen 15 

Piling the birks on the Braes of Yarrow? 



maun she, maun she 



A. Lang maun she weep, 
weep, 

Lang maun she weep with dttle and sorrow; 
And tang maun I nae mair weil he seen 

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. 20 



For she has tint her luver, luver dear, 
Her luver dear, the cause of sorrow ; 

And I hae slain the comliesl swain, 

That eir pu'd birks on the Braes of Yarrow. 

Why rins thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, reid ? 

Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow ? 
And why yon melancholious weids 

Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow ? 

What's yonder floats on the rueful rueful flude ? 

What's yonder floats ? O dule and sorrow ! 
O 'tis he the comely swain I slew 

Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow. 

Wash, O wash his wounds, his wounds in tears, 
His wounds in tears with dule and sorrow ; 

And wrap his limbs in mourning weids, 
And lay him on the Braes of Yarrow. 

Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad, 
Ye sisters sad, his tomb witli sorrow; 

And wee]) around in waeful wise 

His hapless (ate on the Braes of Y'arrow. 

Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield, 
My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, 

The fatal spear that pierc'd his breast, 

His comely breast on the Braes of Yarrow. 



25 



30 



-10 



V. i. 13, What follows \s not in !■ unc copies. 



ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST. 



183 



Did I not warn thee, not to, not to luve ? 4, 

And warn from fight ? but to my sorrow 

Too rashly bauld a stronger arm 

Thou mett'st, and fell'st on the Braes of Yarrow. 



Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green grows 
the grass, 

Yellow on Yarrow's bank the gowan, 50 

Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, 

Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan. 

Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet flows 
Tweed, 

As green its grass, its gowan as yellow, 
As sweet smells on its braes the birk, 

The apple frae its rock as mellow. 

Fair was thy luve, fair fair indeed thy luve, 
In flow'ry bands thou didst him fetter ; 

Tho' he was fair, and weil beluv'd again 
Than me he never luv'd thee better. 



55 



60 



Busk ye, then busk, my bonny bonny bride, 
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow, 

Busk ye, and luve me on the banks of Tweed, 
And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow 



C. How can I busk a bonny bonny bride ? 

How can I busk a winsome marrow ? 
How luve him upon the banks of Tweed, 

That slew my luve on the Braes of Yarrow ? 

O Yarrow fields, may never never rain 
Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, 
For there was basely slain my luve, 
. My luve, as he had not been a lover. 

The boy put on his robes, his robes of green, 
His purple vest, 'twas my awn sewing : 

Ah ! wretched me ! I little, little kenn'd 
He was in these to meet his ruin. 



65 



70 



75 



The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed, 

Unheedful of my dule and sorrow : 
But ere the toofall of the night 

He lay a corps on the Braes of Yarrow. 80 



Much I rejoyc'd that waeful waeful day ; 

I sang, my voice the woods returning : 
But lang ere night the spear was flown, 

That slew my luve, and left me mourning. 

What can my barbarous barbarous father do, 85 

But with his cruel rage pursue me ? 
My luver's blood is on thy spear, 

How canst thou, barbarous man, then wooe me? 

My happy sisters may be, may be proud 

With cruel and ungentle scoflin', 90 

May bid me seek on Yarrow's Braes 
My luver nailed in his coffin. 

My brother Douglas may upbraid, upbraid, 
And strive with threatning words to muve me : 

My luver's blood is on thy spear, 95 

How canst thou ever bid me luve thee ? 



Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of luve, 
With bridal sheets my body cover, 

Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door, 
Let in the expected husband lover. 



100 



But who the expected husband husband is ? 

His hands, methinks, are bath'd in slaughter : 
Ah me ! what ghastly spectre's yon 

Comes in his pale shroud, bleeding after ? 

Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down, 

O lay his cold head on my pillow ; 
Take aff, take aff these bridal weids, 

And crown my careful head with willow. 

Pale tho' thou art, yet best, yet best beluv'd, 
O could my warmth to life restore thee ! 

Yet lye all night between my breists, 
No youth lay ever there before thee. 

Pale, pale indeed, O luvely luvely youth ! 

Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter : 
And lye all night between my briests ; 

No youth shall ever lye there after. 

A. Return, return, O mournful, mournful bride, 
Return, and dry thy useless sorrow : 

Thy luver heeds none of thy sighs, 

He lyes a corps in the Braes of Yarrow. 120 



105 



110 



115 



XXV. 
ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST. 



was a Party Song written by the ingenious 

author of " Leonidas"*, on the taking of Porto Bello 
from the Spaniards by Admiral Vernon, Nov. 22, 
1739. — The case of Hosier, which is here so pathe- 
tically represented, was briefly this. In April 1726, 
that commander was sent with a strong fleet into the 
Spanish West-Indies, to block up the galleons in 
the ports of that country, or, should they presume to 
come out, to seize and carry them into England : he 



* An ingenious correspondent informs the Editor, that 
this Ballad hath been also attributed to the late Lord Bath. 



accordingly arrived at the Bastimentos near Porto 
Bello, but being employed rather to overawe than to 
attack the Spaniards, with whom it was probably 
not our interest to go to war, he continued long in- 
active on that station, to his own great regret. He 
afterwards removed to Carthagena, and remained 
cruizing in these seas, till far the greater part of his 
men perished deplorably by the diseases of that un- 
healthy climate. This brave man, seeing his best 
officers and men thus daily swept away, his ships 
exposed to inevitable destruction, and himself made 
the sport of the enemy, is said to have died of a 



184 



ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST. 



broken heart. Such is the account of Smollett, com- 
pared with that of other less partial writers. 

The following song is commonly accompanied 
with a Second Part, or Answer, which being of in- 
ferior merit, and apparently written by another 
hand, hath been rejected. 

As near Porto-Bello lying 

On the gently swelling flood, 
At midnight with streamers flying 

Our triumphant navy rode ; 
There while Vernon sate all-glorious 5 

From the Spaniards' late defeat : 
And his crews, with shouts victorious, 

Drank success to England's fleet ; 

On a sudden shrilly sounding, 

Hideous yells and shrieks were heard ; 10 

Then each heart with fear confounding, 

A sad troop of ghosts appear'd. 
All in dreary hammocks shrouded, 

Which for winding-sheets they wore, 
And with looks by sorrow clouded j 5 

Frowning on that hostile shore. 

On them gleam'd the moon's wan lustre, 

When the shade of Hosier brave 
His pale bands was seen to muster 

Rising from their watery grave. 20 

O'er the glimmering wave he hy'd him, 

Where the Burford * rear'd her sail, 
With three thousand ghosts beside him, 

And in groans did Vernon hail. 

Heed, oh heed our fatal story, 25 

I am Hosier's injur'd ghost, 
You who now have purchas'd glory 

At this place where I was lost ! 
Tho' in Porto-Bello's ruin 

You now triumph free from fears, SO 

When you think on our undoing, 

You will mix your joy with tears. 

See these mournful spectres sweeping 

Ghastly o'er this hated wave, 
Whose wan cheeks are stain'd with weeping ; 35 

These were English captains brave. 
Mark those numbers pale and horrid, 

Those were once my sailors bold : 
Lo, each hangs his drooping forehead, 

While his dismal tale is told. 40 

• Admiral Vernon's ship. 



I, by twenty sail attended, 

Did this Spanish town affright : 
Nothing then its wealth defended 

But my orders not to fight. 
Oh ! that in this rolling ocean 

I had cast them with disdain, 
And obey'd my heart's warm motion 

To have quell'd the pride of Spain ! 

For resistance I could fear none, 

But with twenty ships had done 
What thou, brave and happy Vernon, 

Hast atchiev'd with six alone. 
Then the bastimentos never 

Had our foul dishonour seen, 
Nor the sea the sad receiver 

Of this gallant train had been. 

Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying, 

And her galleons leading home, 
Though condemn'd for disobeying, 

I had met a traitor's doom, 
To have fallen, my country crying 

He has play'd an English part, 
Had been better far than dying 

Of a griev'd and broken heart. 

L T nrepining at thy glory, 

Thy successful arms we hail ; 
But remember our sad story, 

And let Hosier's wrongs prevail. 
Sent in this foul clime to languish, 

Think what thousands fell in vain, 
"Wasted with disease and anguish, 

Not in glorious battle slain. 

Hence with all my train attending 

From their oozy tombs below, 
Thro' the hoary foam ascending, 

Here I feed my constant woe : 
Here the bastimentos viewing, 

We recal our shameful doom, 
And our plaintive cries renewing, 

Wander thro' the midnight gloom. 

O'er these waves for ever mourning 

Shall we roam depriv'd of rest, 
If to Britain's shores returning 

You neglect my just request ; 
After this proud foe subduing, 

When your patriot friends you see, 
Think on vengeance for my ruin, 

And for England sham'd in me. 



45 



50 



55 ; 



60 



65 



70 



75 



80 



1)5 



JEMMY DAWSON. 



185 



XXVI. 
JEMMY DAWSON. 



James Dawson was one of the Manchester rebels, 
who was hanged, drawn, and quartered, on Kenning- 
ton-common, in the county of Surrey, July 30, 1746. 
This ballad is founded on a remarkable fact, which 
was reported to have happened at his execution. It 
was written by the late William Shenstone, Esq. 
soon after the event, and has been printed amongst 
his posthumous works, 2 vols. 8vo. It is here given 
from a MS. which contained some small variations 
from that printed copy. 

Come listen to my mournful tale, 

Ye tender hearts, and lovers dear ; 
Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh, 

Nor will you blush to shed a tear. 

And thou, dear Kitty, peerless maid, *5 

Do thou a pensive ear incline ; 
For thou canst weep at every woe, 

And pity every plaint, but mine. 

Young Dawson was a gallant youth, 

A brighter never trod the plain ; 10 

And well he lov'd one charming maid,, 

And dearly was he lov'd again. 

One tender maid she lov'd him dear, 

Of gentle blood the damsel came, 
And faultless was her beauteous form, 15 

And spotless was her virgin fame. 

But curse on party's hateful strife, 

That led the faithful youth astray 
The day the rebel clans appear'd : 

O had he never seen that day ! 20 

Their colours and their sash he wore, 

And in the fatal dress was found ; 
And now he must that death endure, 

Which gives the brave the keenest wound. 

How pale was then his true love's cheek 25 

When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear ! 

For never yet did Alpine snows 
So pale, nor yet so chill appear. 

With faltering voice she weeping said, 

Oh, Dawson, monarch of my heart, 30 

Think not thy death shall end our loves, 
For thou and I will never part. 

Yet might sweet mercy find a place, 
And bring relief to Jemmy's woes, 

O George, without a prayer for thee 35 

My orisons should never close. 



The gracious prince that gives him life 
Would crown a never-dying flame, 

And every tender babe I bore 

Should learn to lisp the giver's name. 



40 



But though, dear youth, thou should'stbe dragg'd 

To yonder ignominious tree, 
Thou shalt not want a faithful friend 

To share thy bitter fate with thee. 

O then her mourning-coach was call'd, 45 

The sledge niov'd slowly on before ; 

Tho' borne in a triumphal car, 

She had not lov'd her favourite more. 

She followed him, prepar'd to view 

The terrible behests of law ; 50 

And the last scene of Jemmy's woes 

With calm and stedfast eye she saw. 

Distorted was that blooming face, 
Which she had fondly lov'd so long : 

And stifled was that tuneful breath, 55 

Which in her praise had sweetly sung : 

And sever 'd was that beauteous neck, 

Round which her arms had fondly clos'd : 

And mangled was that beauteous breast, 

On which her love-sick head repos'd: 60 

And ravish'd was that constant heart, 

She did to every heart prefer ; 
For though it could his king forget, 

'Twas true and loyal still to her. 

Amid those unrelenting flames 65 

She bore this constant heart to see ; 

But when 'twas moulder'd into dust, 
Now, now, she cried, I'll follow thee. 

My death, my death alone can show 

The pure and lasting love I bore : 70 

Accept, O heaven, of woes like ours, 

And let us, let us weep no more. 

The dismal scene was o'er and past, 
The lover's mournful hearse retir'd ; 

The maid drew back her languid head, 75 

And sighing forth his name expir'd. 

Tho' justice ever must prevail, 

The tear my Kitty sheds is due ; 
For seldom shall she hear a tale 

So sad, so tender, and so true. 80 



THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK. 



r 



IVt) 



POEMS ON KING ARTHUR. 



SERIES THE THIRD. 
BOOK I. 



An ordinary song or ballad, that is the delight of the common people, cannot fail to please all such 
readers as are not unqualified for the entertainment by their affectation or their ignorance ; and the reason 
is plain, because the same paintings of nature which recommend it to the most ordinary reader will appear 
beautiful to the most refined. 

Addison, in Spectator, No. 70. 



I. 



POEMS ON KING ARTHUR, &c. 



The third series being chiefly devoted to romantic 
subjects, may not be improperly introduced with a 
tew slight strictures on the old metrical romances : 
a subject the more worthy attention, as it seems not 
to have been known to such as have written on the 
nature and origin of books of chivalry, that the first 
compositions of this kind were in verse, and usually 
sung to the harp. 

ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL 
ROMANCES, &c 

I. The first attempts at compositionn amo.i£ all 
barbarous nations are ever found to be poetrv and 
song. The praises of their gods, and the achieve- 
ments of their heroes, are usually chanted at their 
festival meetings., Thws are the first rudimexta 2f 
history. It is in thi3 manner that the sava^?3 }f 
N orth America preserve the memory of past e r&.\ 'A * 
and the same method is known to have prevailed 
among our Saxon ancestors, before they quitted 
their German forests t. The ancient Britons had 
their bards, and the Gothic nations their scalds or 
popular poets t, whose business it was to record the 
victories of their warriors, and the genealogies of 
their princes, in a kind of narrative songs, which 
were committed to memory, and delivered down 
from one reciter to another. So long as poetry con- 
tinued a distinct profession, and while the bard, or 
scald, was a regular and stated officer in the prince's 
court, these men are thought to have performed the 
functions of the historian pretty faithfully ; for 
though their narrations would be apt to receive a 
good deal of embellishment, they are supposed to 
have had at the bottom so much of truth as to serve 
for the basis of more regular annals. At least suc- 
ceeding historians have taken up with the relations 
Of these rude men, and, for want of more authentic 
records, have agreed to allow them tin* credit of true 

history $. 

• \ i.i. I. in.. hi M i des Snuvages, t. ii. Dr. Browoe'i 

lli-t. <>t (in iter .iii.i Progress ol Poeiry. 

t (..nil. mi celebrant caiminibua antiqnia fqnod antra* 
Bond Uloi memoriae el anflalium genua eat) Tnistunem, Sec. 
laclL Get in. c s, 

I',. nth. Anii.j. Dan. Ub. L Cap. 10. — Worinii Lil. i aim ,i 

Kunir.i, ad ! I mill. 

Bee " Northern Antiquities, or a Description <>f the 
Manners, Customs, sec. of iii«- ancient Danes and oilier 
northern Mations, translated from tin- French ofM Malli t, " 
1770, 1 vol. ivo (vol. i. p. -19, inc.) 



After letters began to prevail, and history assumed 
a more stable form, by being committed to plain 
simple prose ; these songs of the scalds or bards 
began to be more amusing than useful. And in 
proportion as it became their business chiefly to 
entertain and delight, thev gave more and more into 
embellishment, and set off their recitals with such 
marvellous fictions as were calculated to captivate 
gross and ignorant minds. Thus began stories of 
adventurers with giants and dragons, and witches 
and enchanters, and all the monstrous extravagances 
of wild imagination, unguided by judgment and 
uncorrected by art*. This seems to be the true 
origin of that species of romance which so long 
celebrated feats of chivalry, and which at first in 
metre, and afterwards in pros a, was the entertain- 
ment of our ancestors, in common with their con- 
temporaries on the Continent, til the satire of 
Cervantes, or rather the increase of knowledge and 
classical literature, drove them off the stage, to 
make room for a more refined species of fiction, 
under the name of French romances, copied from the 
Greek f. 

That our old romances of chivalry may be derived 
in a lineal descent from the ancient historical songs 
of the Gothic bards and scalds, will be shown below, 
and indeed appears the more evident, as many of 
those songs are still preserved in the north, which 
exhibit all the seeds of chivalry before it became a 
solemn institution }:. " Chivalry, as a distinct mili- 
tary order, conferred in the way of investiture, and 
accompanied with the solemnity of an oath, and 
other ceremonies," was of later date, and sprung out 
of the feudal constitution, as an elegant writer has 
(dearly shown $. But the ideas of chivalry prevailed 
long before in all the Gothic nations, and may be 
discovered as in embryo in the customs, manners, 
and opinions of every branch of that people. That 
fondness of going in quest of adventures, that spirit 
of challenging to single combat, and that respectful 
complaisance shown to the fair sex (so different 
from the manners of the Greeks and Romans), all 
are of Gothic origin, and may be traced up to the 



• Vid. infra, pp. 4, 5, &c. 
1 \ i/. fata a, Cassandra, Clclia, &C. 
I Mallei, vid. Northern Antiquities, vol. i. p. 318, &c. 
vol. ii. p. 234, &c. 

$ Letters concerning Chivalry, 8vo. 1763. 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 



187 



earliest times among all the northern nations*. 
These existed long before the feudal ages, though 
they were called forth and strengthened in a peculiar 
manner under that constitution, and at length arrived 
to their full maturity in the times of the Crusades, 
so replete with romantic adventures f. 

Even the common arbitrary fictions of romance 
were (as is hinted above) most of them familiar to 
the ancient scalds of the north, long before the time 
of the crusades. They believed the existence of 
giants and dwarfs $ ; they entertained opinions not 
unlike the more modern notion of fairies § ; they 
were strongly possessed with the belief of spells and 
enchantment || ; and were fond of inventing combats 
r ith dragons and monsters if. 

The opinion therefore seems very untenable, 
which some learned and ingenious men have enter- 
tained, that the turn for chivalry, and the taste for 
that species of romantic fiction were caught by the 
Spaniards from the Arabians or Moors after their 
invasion of Spain, and from the Spaniards trans- 
mitted to die bards of Armorica**, and thus diffused 

♦ Mallet. 

+ The seeds of ehivaliy sprung up so naturally out of the 
original manners and opinions of the northern nations, that 
it is not credible they arose so late as after the establishment 
of the feudal system, much less the crusades. Nor again, that 
the romances of chivalry were transmitted to other nations, 
through the Spaniards, from the Moors and Arabians. Had 
this been the case, the first French Romances of chivalry 
would have been on Moorish or at least Spanish subjects : 
whereas the most ancient stones of this kind, whether in prose 
or verse, whether in Italian, French, English, &c. are chiefly 
on the subjects of Charlemagne, and the Paladins ; or of our 
British Arthur, and his knights of the Round Table, &c. being 
evidently borrowed from the fabulous Chronicles of the sup- 
posed Archbishop Turpin, and of Jeffery of Monmouth. Not 
but some of the oldest and most popular French romances are 
also on Norman subjects, as Richard Sans-peur, Robert Le 
Diable,t$ic.\ whereas 1 do not recollect so much as one in 
which the scene is laid in Spain, much less among the Moors, 
or descriptive of Mahometan manners. Even in Amadis de 
Caul, said to have been the first romance printed in Spain, 
the scene is laid in Gaul and Britain ; and the manners are 
French : which plainly shews from what school this species 
of fabling was learnt and transmitted to the southern nations of 
Europe. 

t Mallet, North. Antiquities, vol. i. p. 36 ; vol. ii. passim. 

§ Olaus Verel. ad Hervarer Saga, pp. 44, 45. Hickes's 
Thesaur. vol. ii. p. 311. Northern Antiquities, vol. ii. passim. 

|| Ibid. vol. i. pp. 69, 374, &c. vol. ii. p. 216, &c. 

IT Rollof's Saga. cap. 35, &c. 

** It is peculiarly unfortunate that such as maintain this 
opinion are obliged to take their first step from the Moorish 
provinces in Spain, without one intermediate resting-place, to 
Armorica or Bretagne, t"he province in France from them 
most remote, not more in situation than in the manners, 
habits, and language of its Welch inhabitants, which are 
allowed to have been derived from this island, as must have 
been their traditions, songs, and fables ; being doubtless all 
of Celtic original. See p. 3. of the " Dissertation on the 
Origin of Romantic Fiction in Europe," prefixed to Mr 
Thos. Warton's History of English Poetry, v^i. i. 1774, 4to! 
If any pen could have supported this darling hypothesis of 
Dr. Warburton, that of this ingenious critic would have 
effected it. But under the general term Oriental he seems 
to consider the ancient inhabitants of the north and south of 
Asia as having all the same manners, traditions, and fables • 
and because the secluded people of Arabia took the lead under 
the religion and empire of Mahomet, therefore every thing 
must be derived from them to the northern Asiatics in the 
remotest ages, &c. With as much reason undei the word 
Occidental, we might represent the early traditions and 
fables of the north and south of Europe to have been the 
same ; and that the Gothic mythology of Scandinavia the 
the Druidic or Celtic of Gaul and Britain, differed not from 
the classic of Greece and Rome. 

There is not room here for a full examination of the minuter 
arguments, or rather slight coincidences, by which our agree- 
able dissertator endeavours to maintain and defend this 
favourite opinion of Dr. W. who has been himself so corn- 



through Britain, France, Italy, Germany, and the 
north. For it seems utterly incredible that one rude 
people should adopt a peculiar taste and manner of 
writing or thinking from another, without borrowing 
at the same time any of their particular stories and 
fables, without appearing to know any thing of their 
heroes, history, laws, and religion. When the Ro- 
mans began to adopt and imitate the Grecian litera- 
ture, they immediately naturalized all the Grecian 
fables, histories, and religious stories ; which be- 
came as familiar to the poets of Rome as of Greece 
itself. Whereas all the old writers of chivalry, and 
of that species of romance, whether in prose or 
verse, whether of the northern nations, or of Britain, 
France, and Italy, not excepting Spain itself*, 
appear utterly unacquainted with whatever relates 
to the Mahometan nations. Thus with regard to 
their religion, they constantly represent them as 
worshiping idols, as paying adoration to a golden 
image of Mahomet, or else they confound them with 
the ancient Pagans, &c. And indeed, in all other 
respects they are so grossly ignorant of the customs, 
manners, and opinions of every branch of that peo- 
ple, especially of their heroes, champions, and local 
stories, as almost amounts to a demonstration that 
they did not imitate them in their songs or romances : 
for as to dragons, serpents, necromancies, &c. why 
should these be thought only derived from the 
Moors in Spain so late as after the eighth century 1 
since notions of this kind appear too familiar to the 
northern scalds, and enter too deeply into all the 
northern mythology, to have been transmitted to the 
unlettered Scandinavians, from so distant a country, 

pletely confuted by Mr. Tyrwhitt. (See his notes on" Love's 
Labour Lost," &c.) But some of his positions it will be 
sufficient to mention : such as the referring the Gog and 
Magog, which our old Christian bards might have had from 
Scripture, to the Jaguiouge and Magiouge of the Arabians 
and Persians, &c. (p. 13.)— That " we may venture to affirm, 
that this [Geoffrey of Monmouth's] Chronicle, supposed to 
contain the ideas ot the Welch bards, entirely consists of 
Arabian inventions." (p 13.) — And that, " as Geoffrey's 
History is the grand repository of the acts of Arthur, so a 
fabnlous history, ascribed to Turpin, is the ground-work of 
all the chimerical legends which have been related concern 
ing the conquests of Charlemagne and his twelve peers. Its 
subject is the expulsion of the Saracens from Spain; and it 
is filled with fictions evidently congenial to those which cha- 
racterize Geoffrey's History." (p. 17.) — That is, as he after- 
wards expresses it. " lavishly decorated by the Arabian 
fablers." (p. 58.) — We should hardly have expected that the 
Arabian fablers would have been lavish in decorating a his- 
tory of their enemy; but what is singular, as an instance and 
proof of this Arabian origin of the fictions of Turpin, a pas- 
sage is quoted from his fourth chapter, which I shall beg leave 
to offer, as affording decisive evidence that they could not 
possibly be derived from a Mahometan source. Sc. " The 
Christians under Charlemagne are said to have found in 
Spain a golden idol, or image of Mahomet, as high as a bird 
can fly. — It was framed by Mahomet himself of the purest 
metal, who, by his knowledge in necromancy, had sealed 
up within it a legion of diabolical spirits. It held in its hand 
a prodigious club; and the Saracens had a prophetic tradi- 
tion, that this club should fall from the hand of the image in 
that year when a certain king should be born in France, &c. 
Vid. p. 18, Note. 

* The little narrative songs on Morisco subjects, which 
the Spaniards have at present in great abundance, and 
which they call peculiarly romances, (see Series I. Book iii. 
No. 16, &c.) have nothing in common with their proper 
romances(or histories)of chivalry ; which they call JJistorias 
de Cavallerias : these are evidently imitations of the French, 
and shew a great ignorance of Moorish manners : and with 
regard to the Morisco, or song-romances, they do not seem 
of very great antiquity: few of them appear, from their 
subjects, much earlier than the reduction <>f Granada, in the 
fifteenth century : from which period, I believe, may be 
plainly traced, among the Spanish writers, a more perfect 
knowledge of Moorish customs, &c. 



188 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 



at so late a period. If they may not be allowed to 
have brought these opinions with them in their 

original migrations from the north of Asia, they 
will be far more likely to have borrowed them from 
the Latin poets after the Roman conquests in Gaul, 
Britain, Germany, &c For 1 believe one may 

challenge the maintainors of this opinion to produce 
any Arabian poem or history, that could possibly 
have been then known in Spain, which resembles the 
old Gothic romances of chivalry half so much as the 
Metamorphoses of Ovid. 

Rut we well know that the Scythian nations situate 
in the countries about Rontus, Colchis, and the 
Euxine sea, were in all times infamous for their 
magic arts ; and as Odin and bis followers are said 
to have come precisely from those parts of Asia, we 
can readily account for the prevalence of fictions of 
this sort among the Gothic nations of the north, 
without fetching them from the Moors in Spain, 
who for many centuries after their irruption lived in 
a state of such constant hostility with the unsubdued 
Spanish Christians, whom they chiefly pent up in 
the mountains, as gave them no chance of learning 
their music, poetry, or stories ; and this, together 
with the religious hatred of the latter for their cruel 
invaders, will account for the utter ignorance of the 
old Spanish romancers in whatever relates to the 
Mahometan nations, although so nearly their own 
neighbours. 

On the other hand, from the local customs and sit- 
uations, from the known manners and opinions of 
the Gothic nations in the North, we can easily ac- 
count for all the ideas of chivalry, and its peculiar 
fictions*. For, not to mention their distinguished 
respect for the fair sex, so different from the man- 
ners of the Mahometan nationsf, their national and 
domestic history so naturally assumes all the won- 
ders of this species of fabling, that almost all their 
historical narratives appear regular romances. One 
might refer, in proof of this, to the old northern 
Sagas in general : but, to give a particular instance, 
it will be sufficient to produce the history of King 
Regner Lodbrog, a celebrated warrior and pirate, 
who reigned in Denmark about the year 800$. This 
hero signalized his youth by an exploit of gallantry. 
A Swedish prince had a beautiful daughter, whom 
lie intrusted (probably during some expedition) to 
the care of one of his officers, assigning a strong 
castle for their defence. The officer fell in love with 
his ward, and detained her in his castle, spite of all 
the efforts of her father. Upon this he published a 
proclamation, through all the neighbouring coun- 
ting, that whoever would conquer the ravisher, and 
rescue the lady, should have her in marriage. Of all 
that undertook the adventure, Regner alone was so 
happy as to achieve it; he delivered the fair captive, 
and obtained her for his prize. Jt happened that 
the nam*! of this discourteous officer was Orme, 
which, in the Jslandic language .signifies Serpent : 
wherefore tlie scalds, to give the more poetical turn 

to tin- adventure, represent the lady as detained from 

her father by a dreadful dragon, and that Regner 
slew the mOOSter to set her at liberty. This fabulous 
account of the exploit is given in a poem still ex- 
tant, which is even ascribed to Regner himself, who 



• Sec- Northern Antiquities, passim. 
t ihi.i. 

: s.i\, ,n Gram. p. 158, 153. Mallet, Norm. Antiq. vol. i. 
d. 821. 



was a celebrated poet, and which records all tLe 
valiant achievements of his life*. 

With marvellous embellishments of this kind, the 
scalds early began to decorate their narratives : and 
they were the more lavish of these in proportion as 
they departed from their original institution ; but it 
was a long time before they thought of deliver- 
i ing a set of personages and adventures wholly 
feigned. Of the great multitude of romantic tales 
still preserved in the libraries of the north, most 
of them are supposed to have had some foun- 
dation in truth ; and the more ancient they are, 
the more they are believed to be connected with true 
historyf. 

It was not probably till after the historian and the 
bard had been long disunited, that the latter ven- 
tured at pure fiction, At length, when their busi- 
ness was no longer to instruct or inform, but merely 
to amuse, it was no longer needful for them to ad- 
here to truth. Then succeeded fabulous songs and 
romances in verse, which for a long time prevailed 
in France and England, before they had books of 
chivalry in prose. Yet, in both these countries, the 
minstrels still retained so much of their original 
institution as frequently to make true events the 
subject of their songs \; and, indeed, as during the 
barbarous ages, the regular histories were almost all 
written in Latin by the monks, the memory of events 
was preserved and propagated among the ignorant 
laity, by scarce any other means than the popular 
songs of the minstrels. 

II. The inhabitants of Sweden, Denmark, and 
Norway, being the latest converts to Christianity, 
retained their original manners and opinions longer 
than the other nations of Gothic race : and, there- 
fore, they have preserved more of the genuine com- 
positions of their ancient poets than their southern 
neighbours. Hence the progress among them, from 
poetical history to poetical fiction, is very discern- 
ible: they have some old pieces, that are in effect 
complete romances of chivalry^. They have also 
(as hath been observed) a multitude of sagas||, oi 
histories on romantic subjects, containing a mixture 
of prose and verse of various dates, some of them 
written since the times of the crusades, others long 
before ; but their narratives in verse only are es- 
teemed the more ancient. 

Now, as the irruption of the Normansf into 
France under Rollo did not take place till towards 
the beginning of the tenth century, at which time 
the Scaldic art was arrived to the highest perfection 
in Rollo's native country, we can easily trace the 
descent of the French and English romances of chi- 
valry from the northern sagas. That conqueror 
doubtless carried many scalds with him from the 
north, who transmitted their skill to their children 
and successors. These, adopting the religion, opi- 
nions, and language of the now country, substituted 



• Sec a Translation of tins poem among "Five Pieces of 
Runic Poetry," printed tor Dodsley, 1704, 8vo. 

t \ id. Mallet, Northern Antiquities, passim. 

X The Editor's If S. contains a multitude of poems of this 
latter kind. It waa probably from this custom of the min- 
strels thai some Of our first historians wrote their chronicles 

in verae»ai Robert of Gloucester, Harding, &c. 

Baa a specimen In *2d. voL of Northern Antiquities, &c 

D. V48, &c. 

|| BccanU Hist Stud. Btym. 1711, p. 179, &c. Hickes's 

llio.nn , \ol. li, p. ;tl 1. 

II i. f. Northern Men: being chiefly emigrants from Nor- 
way, Denmark, &c. 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES, &c. 



189 



the heroes of Christendom instead of those of their 
pagan ancestors, and began to celebrate the feats of 
Charlemagne, Roland, and Oliver; whose true his- 
tory they set off and embellished with the scaldic 
figments of dwarfs, giants, dragons, and enchant- 
ments. The first mention we have in song of those 
heroes of chivalry, is in the mouth of a Norman 
warrior at the conquest of England* ; and this cir- 
cumstance alone would sufficiently account for the 
propagation of this kind of romantic poems among 
the French and English. 

But this is not all ; it is very certain that both 
the Anglo-Saxons and the Franks had brought with 
them, at their first emigrations into Britain and 
Gaul, the same fondness for the ancient songs of 
their ancestors, which prevailed among the other 
Gothic tribes \, and that all their first annals were 
transmitted in these popular oral poems. This fond- 
ness they even retained long after their conversion 
to Christianity, as we learn from the examples of 
Charlemagne and Alfred:):. Now poetry, being thus 
the transmitter of facts, would as easily learn to 
blend them with fictioi s in France and England, as 
she is known to have done in the north, and that 
much sooner, for the reasons before assigned §. This 
together with the example and influence of the Nor- 
mans, will easily account to us why the first roman- 
ces of chivalry that appeared both in England and 
France || were composed in metre as a rude kind of 
epic songs. In both kingdoms, tales in verse were 
usually sung by minstrels to the harp on festival oc- 
casions : and doubtless, both nations derived their 
relish for this sort of entertainment from their Teu- 
tonic ancestors, without either of them borrowing it 
from the other. Among both people, narrative songs, 
on true or fictitious subjects had evidently obtained 
from the earliest times. But the professed romances 
of chivalry seem to have been first composed in 
France, where also they had their name. 

The Latin tongue, as is observed by an ingenious 
writer^, ceased to be spoken in France about the 
ninth century, and was succeeded by what was called 
the romance tongue, a mixture of the language of the 
Franks and bad Latin. As the songs of chivalry 
became the most popular compositions in that lan- 
guage, they were emphatically called Romans or 
Roman ts ; though this name was at first given to any 
piece of poetry. The romances of chivalry can be 



* See the account of Taillefer in Essay and Note. 

t Ipsa carmina memoriae mandabant, et praelia inituri 
decantabant : qua memoria tarn forlium gestorum a majori- 
bus patratorum ad imitationem animus adderetur. Jornan- 
des de Gothis. 

X Eginhartus de Carolo magno. " Item barbara, et anti- 
quissima carmina, quibus veterum regum actus et bella cane- 
bantur, scripsit." c. 29. 

Asserius de Alfredo magno. " Rex inter bella, &c 

Saxonicos libros recitare, et maxinie carmina Saxonica me- 
moriter discere, aliis imperare, et solus assidue pro viribus, 
studiosissime non desinebat." Ed. 1722, 8vo, p. 43. 

$ See above, pp. 18b", 188, &c. 

|| The romances on the subject of Perceval, San Graal, 
Lancelot du Lac, Tristan, &c. were among the first that ap- 
peared in the French language in prose, yet these were ori- 
ginally composed in metre : The Editor has in his possession 
a very old French MS. in verse, containing L'ancien Roman 
de Perceval; and metrical copies of the others may be 
found in the libraries of the curious. See a note of Wanley's 
»Harl. Catalog. No. 2252, p. 49, &c. i^icolson's Eng. 
Hist. Library, 3d. Ed. p. 91, &c— See also a curious collec- 
tion of old French romances, with Mr. Wanley's account of 
this sort of pieces, in Harl. MSS. Catal. 978, 106. 

IT The Author of the Essay on the Genius of Pope, p. 282, 



traced as early as the eleventh century*. I know 
not if the Roman de Brut, written in 1155, was such : 
Bat if it was, it was by no means the first poem of 
the kind ; others more ancient are still extantf. And 
we have already seen, that, in the preceding century, 
when the Normans marched down to the battle of 
Hastings, they animated themselves, by singing (in 
some popular romance or ballad) the exploits of 
Roland and the other heroes of chivalry}. 

So early as this I cannot trace the songs of chivalry 
in English. The most ancient I have seen is that 
of Hornechild, described below, which seems not 
older than the twelfth century. However, as this 
rather resembles the Saxon poetry than the French, 
it is not certain that the first English romances were 
translated from that language^. We have seen 
above, that a propensity to this kind of fiction pre 
vailed among all the Gothic nations||; and though, 
after the Norman conquest, this country abounded 
with French romances, or with translations from the 
French, there is good reason to believe that the 
English had original pieces of their own. 

The stories of King Arthur and his Round-Table 
may be reasonably supposed of the growth of this 
island; both the French and the Armoricans probably 
had them from Britain^. The stories of Guy and 
Bevis, with some others, were probably the invention 
of English minstrels**. On the other hand, the 
English procured translations of such romances as 
were most current in France : and in the list given 
at the conclusion of these remarks many are doubt- 
less of French original. 

The first prose books of chivalry that appeared in 
our language were those printed by Caxtonft; at least, 



* Ibid. p. 283. Hist. Lit. torn, vi, vii. 

t Voi Preface aux " Fabliaux et Contes des Poetes Fran- 
cois " des xii, xiii, xiv,et xv. siecles, &c. Paris, 1756, 3, 
torn. 12mo." (a very curious work). 

X See the account of Taillefer in Essay, and Note. 
And see Rapin, Carte, &c. — This song of Roland (whatever 
it was) continued for some centuries to be usually sung by 
the French in their marches, if we may believe a modern 
French writer. " Un jour qu'on chantoitla Chanson de Ro- 
land, comme c'etoit l'usage dans les marches. Ilya long' 
temps, dit il [John K. of France, who died in 1304], qu'on 
ne voit plus de Rolands, parmi les Francois. On y verroit. 
encore des Rolands, lui repondit un vieux Capitaine, s'ils 
avoient un Charlemagne a leur tete." Vid. torn, iii, p. 202, 
des Essaies Hist, sur Paris de M. de Saintefoix, who gives, 
as his authority, Boethius in Hist. Scotorum. This author, 
however, speaks of the complaint and repartee as made in. 
an assembly of the states (vocato senatu), and not upon 
any march, &c. Vid. Boeth. lib. xv, fol. 327. Ed. Paris, 
1574. 

§ See, on this subject, Notes on the Essay on the An- 
cient Minstrels, (s 2.) and (g g). 

|| The first romances of chivalry among the Germans were 
in metre : they have some very ancient narrative songs 
(which they call Lieder) not only on the fabulous heroes of 
their own country, but also on those of France and Briiain, 
as Tristram, Arihur, Gawain, and the Knights row derTafel 
ronde. Vid. Goldasti Not. in Eginhart. Vit. Car. Mag.4to, 
1711, p. 207. 

If The Welsh have still some very old romances about King 
Arthur; but as these are in prose, they are not probably 
their first pieces that were composed on that subject. 

** It is most credible that these stories were originally of 
English invention, even if the only pieces now extant should 
be found to be translations from the French. What now 
pass for the French originals were probably only amplifica- 
tions, or enlargements of the old English story. That the 
French romancers borrowed some things from the English, 
appears from the word Termagant, which they took up from 
our minstrels, and corrupted into Tervagaunte. See p. 19, 
and Gloss. " Termagauut." 

tt Recuyel of the ^Hystoryes of Troy, 1471. Godfrye of 
Boloyne, 1481. Le Morte de Arthur, 1485. The Lite of 
Charlemagne, 1485, &c. As the old minstrelsy wore out, 



190 



OX THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES, &c. 



these are tlie first I have been ;il)l*' to discover, and 
these are all translations fromthe French. \\ bereaa 

romances of this kind had been long current in metre, 
and were so generally admired in the time of Chaucer, 
that his rhyme of Sir Thopas was evidently written 
to ridicule and burlesque them*. 

He expressly mentions several of them by name 
in a stanza, which I shall have occasion to quote 
more than once in this volume : 

Men speken of romaunces of pris 

Of Horn-Child, and of Ipotis 
Of Bevis, and Sire Guy 

Of Sire Libeux, and Pleindamour. 

But Sire Thopas, he bereth the flour 
Of real ehevalrief. 
Most if not all of these are still extant in MS. in 
some or other of our libraries, as I shall shew in the 
conclusion ot this slight essay, -where I shall give a 
list of such metrical histories and romances as have 
fallen under my observation. 

As many of these contain a considerable portion 
of poetic merit, and throw great light on the manners 
and opinions of former times, it were to be wished 
that some of the best of them were rescued from 
oblivion. A judicious collection of them accurately 
published, with proper illustrations, would be an 
important accession to our stock of ancient English 
literature. Many of them exhibit no mean attempts 
at epic poetry : and though full of the exploded 
fictions of chivalry, frequently display great descrip- 
tive and inventive powers in the bards who com- 
posed them. They are at least generally equal to 
any other poetry of the same age. They cannot in- 
deed be put in competition with the nervous pro- 
ductions of so universal and commanding a genius as 
Chaucer ; but they have a simplicity that makes 
them be read with less interruption, and be more 
easily understood ; and they are far more spirited and 
entertaining than the tedious allegories of Gower, or 
the dull and prolix legends of Lydgate. Yet, while 
3 much stress was laid upon the writings of these 
last, by such as treat of English poetry, the old metri- 
cal romances, though far more popular in their time, 
were hardly known to exist. But it has happened, 
unluckily, that the antiquaries, who have revived the 
works of our ancient writers, have been, for the 
most part, men void of taste and genius, and there- 
fore have always fastidiously rejected the old poetical 
romances, because founded on fictitious or popular 
subjects, while they have been careful to grub up 
every petty fragment of the most dull and insipid 
rlivmist, whose merit it was to deform morality or 
obscure true history. Should the public encourage 
the revival of some of those ancient epic songs of 
chivalry, they would frequently see the rich ore of 
an Ariosto or a Tasso, though buried it may be among 
the rubbish and dross of barbarous times. 

Such a publication would answer many important 

OSes: It would throw new light on the rise and 

pro; irss of English poetry, the history of winch can 



prose books "t cbivalrj became more Bdmiredi especially 
aiti r the Spanish romances began i" i"- translated] into 
English, towards the end "i Queen Blisabeth'a relgni then 
the most popular metrical romances began i<> i><- reduced 
into prose, ai Bit Onj BV % is >v< . 

• Bet i mi.ic i from a letter, written in the Rditor of these 
\ oiiiiin -, iii Mi. Walton's Observations, roL u p. 189. 

t Canterbury Tales (Tyrwhltt'i Edit.) voL ii. i>. 238. 

In all the formei editions, which I 1 1 -i v « ■ seen, the 

at the end oi the it h line is Blandamour* 



be but impefectly understood if these are neglected : 
It would also serve to illustrate innumerable pasxages 
in our ancient classic poets, which, without, theii 
help, must be forever obscure. For, not to mention 
Chaucer and Spenser, who abound with perpetual 
allusions to them, I shall give an instance or two from 
Shakespeare, by way of specimen of their use. 

In his play of King John our great dramatic poet 
alludes to an exploit of Richard I. which the reader 
will in vain look for in any true history. Faulcon- 
bridge says to his mother, act i. sc. 1. 

" Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose.. . 
Against whose furie and unmatched force, 
The awlesse lion could not wage the fight, 
Nor keepe his princely heart from Richard's hand : 
He that perforce robs lions of their hearts 

May easily winne a woman's :" 

The fact here referred to, is to be traced to its 
source only in the old romance of Richard Cceur de 
Lyon *, in which his encounter with a lion makes a 
very shining figure. I shall give a large extract 
from this poem, as a specimen of the manner of these 
old rhapsodists, and to shew that they did not in 
their fictions neglect the proper means to produce 
the ends, as was afterwards so childishly done in 
the prose books of chivalry. 

The poet tells us, that Richard, in his return from 
the Holy Land, having been discovered in the habit 
of " a palmer in Alniaye," and apprehended as a spy, 
was by the king thrown into prison. Wardrewe, 
the king's son, hearing of Richard's great strength, 
desires the jailor to let him have a sight of his 
prisoners. Richard being the foremost, Wardrewe 
asks him, " if he dare stand a buffet from his hand >" 
and that on the morrow he shall return him another. 
Richard consents, and receives a blow that staggers 
him. On the morrow, having previously waxed his 
hands, he waits his antagonist's arrival. Wardrewe 
accordingly, proceeds the story, " held forth as a 
trewe man," and Richard gave him such a blow on 
the cheek, as broke his jaw-bone, and killed him on 
the spot. The king, to revenge the death of his son, 
orders, by the advice of one Eldrede, that a lion, 
kept purposely from food, shall be turned loose 
upon Richard. But the king's daughter, having 
fallen in love with him, tells him of her father's 
resolution, and at his request procures him forty 
ells of white silk " kerchers ;" and here the descrip- 
tion of the combat begins : 

The kever-chefes t he toke on honde, 
And aboute his arme he wonde ; 
And thought in that ylke while, 
To slee the lyon with some gyle. 
And syngle in a kyrtyll he Btode, 
And abode the lyon fyers and wode, 
With that came the jaylere, 
And other men that wyth him were, 
And the lyon them amonge ; 
His paws were stifle and stronge. 
The chambre (lore they undone, 
And the lyon to them is gone. 
Rycharde aavd, Eiehpe, Lorde Jesu ! 
The lyon made to bym venu, 



• Dr. Grey lias shewn that the same Btory is alluded to in 
Rastell'e Chronicle: La il waa doubtless originally had from 
the romance, ti>i> la proof that the old Metrieal Romances 
iluow lii;lit on our lust writers in prose: many of our 
ancient historians have recorded the fictions of romance. 

( i. <•. Handkerchiefs. Here we have the etymology of 
the word, ml. " Convre le Chef," 



ON TI-IR ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES, &c. 



191 



And wolde hym have all to rente ; 
Kynge Rycharde besyde him glente * 
The lyon on the breste him spurned, 
That aboute he tourned, 
The lyon was hongry and megre, 
And bette his tayle to be egre ; 
He loked aboute as he were madde ; 
Abrode he all his pawes spradde. 
He cryde lowde, and yaned t wyde. 
Kynge Rycharde bethought hym that tyde 
What hym was beste, and to hym sterte, 
In at the throte his honde lie gerte, 
And rente out the herte with his honde, 
Lounge and all that he there fonde. 
The lyon fell deed to the grounde : 
Rycharde felte no wem f , ne wounde. 
He fell on his knees on that place, 
And thanked Jesu of his grace. 
****** 

What follows is not so well, and therefore I shall 
extract no more of this poem. — For the above feat 
the author tells us, the king was deservedly called 

Stronge Rycharde Cure de Lyowne. 

That distich which Shakespeare puts in the mouth 
of his madman in King Lear, act 3, sc. 4. 

Mice and rats and such small deere 

Have been Tom's food for seven long yeare, 

has excited the attention of the critics. Instead of 
deere, one of them would substitute geer ; and another 
cheer §. But the ancient reading is established by 
the old romance of Sir Bevis, which Shakespeare 
had doubtless often heard sung to the harp. This 
distich is part of a description there given of the 
hardships suffered by Bevis, when confined for 
seven years in a dungeon : 

Rattes and myse and such small dere 
Was his meate that seven yere. 

Sign. F iii. 

III. In different parts of this work, the reader 
will find various extracts from these old poetical 
legends ; to which I refer him for farther examples 
of their style and metre. To complete this subject, 
it will be proper at least to give one specimen of 
their skill in distributing and conducting their fable, 
by which it will be seen that nature and common 
sense had supplied to these old simple bards the 
want of critical art, and taught them some of the 
most essential rules of epic poetry, I shall select 
the romance of Libius Disconius ||, as being one of 
those mentioned by Chaucer, and either shorter or 
more intelligible than the others he has quoted. 

If an epic poem may be defined " % A fable re- 
lated by a poet, to excite admiration, and inspire 
virtue, by representing the action of some one hero, 
favoured by heaven, who executes a great design, in 
spite of all the obstacles that oppose him:" I know 
not why we should withold the name of epic poem 
from the piece which I am about to analyse. 

My copy is divided into nine parts or cantos, the 
several arguments of which are as follows. 



* i. e. slipt aside. + i. e . yawned. 

+ i. e. hurt. $ Dr- Warburton — Dr. Grey. 

|| So it is intitled in the Editor's MS. But the true title 
is Le baux disconus, or The Fair Unknown. See a note on 
the Canterbury Tales, vol. iv. p. 333. 

IT Vid. " Discours sur la Poesie Epique,* prefixed to Tele- 
maque. 



Opens with a short exordium to bespeak attention : 
the hero is described ; a natural son of Sir Gawain 
a celebrated knight of King Arthur's court, who 
being brought up in a forest by his mother, is kept 
ignorant of his name and descent. He early ex- 
hibits marks of his courage, by killing a knight in 
single combat, who encountered him as he was 
hunting. This inspires him with a desire of seeking 
adventures : therefore cloathing himself in his 
enemy's armour, he goes to King Arthur's court, to 
request the order of knighthood. His request 
granted, he obtains a promise of having the first 
adventure assigned him that shall offer. — A damsel 
named Ellen, attended by a dwarf, comes to implore 
King Arthur's assistance, to rescue a young princess, 
" the Lady of Sinadone" their mistress, who is 
detained from her rights, and confined in prison. 
The adventure is claimed by the young knight Sir 
Lybius : the king assents ; the messengers are dis- 
satisfied and object to his youth ; but are forced to 
acquiesce. And here the first book closes with a 
description of the ceremony of equipping him forth. 



Sir Lybius sets out on the adventure : he is 
derided by the dwarf and the damsel on account of 
his youth : they come to the bridge of Perill, which 
none can pass without encountering a knight called 
William de la Braunch. Sir Lybius is challenged : 
they just with their spears : De la Braunch is dis- 
mounted : the battle is renewed on foot : Sir Wil- 
liam's sword breaks : he yields. Sir Lybius makes 
him swear to go and present himself to King Arthur, 
as the first fruits of his valour. The conquered 
knight sets out for King Arthur's court : is met by 
three knights, his kinsmen ; who, informed of his 
disgrace, vow revenge, and pursue the conqueror. 
The next day they overtake him : the eldest of the 
three attacks Sir Lybius ; but is overthrown to the 
ground. The two other brothers assault him : Sir 
Lybius is wounded ; yet cuts off the second brother's 
arm : the third yields ; Sir Lybius sends them all to 
King Arthur. In the third evening he is awakened 
by the dwarf, who has discovered a fire in the wood. 



Sir Lybius arms himself, and leaps on horse- 
back : he finds two Giants roasting a wild boar, 
who have a fair lady their captive. Sir Lybius, by 
favour of the night, runs one of them through 
with his spear : is assaulted by the other : a fierce 
battle ensues : he cuts off the giant's arm, and at 
length his head. The rescued lady (an earl's daugh- 
ter) tells him her story; and leads him to her father's 
castle ; who entertains him with a great feast ; and 
presents him at parting with a suit of armour and a 
steed. He sends the giant's head to King Arthur. 



Sir Lybius, maid Ellen, and the dwarf, renew 
their journey : they see a castle stuck round with 
human heads ; and are informed it belongs to a 
knight called Sir Gefferon, who, in honour of his 
lemman or mistress challenges all comers : he that 
can produce a fairer lady, is to be rewarded with a 
milkwhite faulcon, but if overcome, to lose his head. 
Sir Lybius spends the night in the adjoining town ■ 
in the morning goes to challenge the faulcon. The 



192 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES, &c. 



knights exchange their gloves : they agree to just in 
the market-place : the lady and maid Ellen are 
placed aloft in chairs ; their dresses : the superior 
beauty of Sir Gefferon's mistress described: the 
ceremonies previous to the combat. They engage : 
the combat described at large : Sir Gefferon is in- 
curably hurt ; and carried home on his shield. Sir 
Lybius sends the faulcon to King Arthur ; and 
receives back a large present in florins. He stays 
forty days to be cured of his wounds, which he 
spends in feasting with the neighbouring lords. 



Sir Lvbius proceeds for Sinadone : in a forest he 
meets a knight hunting, called Sir Otes de Lisle : 
maid Ellen charmed with a very beautiful dog, begs 
Sir Lybius to bestow him upon her , Sir Otes meets 
them, and claims his dog : is refused : being un- 
armed he rides to his castle, and summons his fol- 
lowers : they go in quest of Sir Lybius : a battle 
ensues : he is still victorious, and forces Sir Otes to 
follow the other conquered knights to King Arthur. 



Sir Lybius comes to a fair city and castle by a 
river-side, beset round with pavillions or tents : he 
is informed, in the castle is a beautiful lady besieged 
by a giant named Maugvs, who keeps the bridge 
and will let none pass without doing him homage : 
this Lybius refuses : a battle ensues : the giant 
described : the several incidents of the battle ; which 
lasts a whole summer's day : the giant is wounded ; 
put to flight ; slain. The citizens come out in pro- 
cession to meet their deliverer : the lady invites him 
into her castle ; falls in love with him : and seduces 
him to her embraces, He forgets the princess of 
Sinadone, and stays with this bewitching lady a 
twelvemonth. This fair sorceress, like another 
Alcina, intoxicates him with all kinds of sensual 
pleasure; and detains him from the pursuit of 
honour. 

PA1XT VII. 

Maid Ellen by chance gets an opportunity of 
speaking to him ; and upbraids him with his vice 
and folly : he is filled with remorse, and escapes the 
same evening. At length he arrives at the city and 
castle of Sinadone : is given to understand that he 
must challenge the constable of the castle to single 
combat, before he can be received as a guest. They 
just : the constable is worsted : Sir Lybius is feasted 
in the castle : he declares his intention of delivering 
their lady ; and inquires the particulars of her his- 
tory. " Two Necromancers have built a fine palace 
by sorcery, and there keep her inchanted, till she 
will surrender her duchy to them, and yield to such 
base conditions as they would impose." 

PARI vm. 

Early on the morrow Sir Lybius sets out for the 
mchaated palace* He alights in the court: enter.-: 
the hall : the wonders 01 which are described in 

strong Gothic painting. He sits down at the high 

table : on a sudden all the lights are quenched : it 

thunder-, and lightens; the palace shakes J the walls 
fall in pieces about his ears. He is dismayed and 

confounded i but presently hears horses neigh, and 

is challenged to single combat by the sorcerers. I le 
gets to his steed: a battle ensues, with various 
turns of fortune : he loses his weapon ; but gets a 



sword from one of the necromancers, and wounds 
the other with it : the edge of the sword being 
secretly poisoned, the wound proves mortal. 

PART IX. 

He goes up to the surviving sorcerer, who is 
carried away from him by enchantment : at length 
he finds him, and cuts off his head : he returns to 
the palace to deliver the lady ; but cannot find her : 
as he is lamenting, a window opens, through which 
enters a horrible serpent with wings and a woman's 
face : it coils round his neck and kisses him ; then 
is suddenly converted into a very beautiful lady. 
She tells him she is the Lady of Sinadone, and was 
so enchanted, till she might kiss Sir Gawain, or 
some one of his blood : that he has dissolved the 
charm, and that herself and her dominions may be 
his reward. The knight (whose descent is by this 
means discovered) joyfully accepts the offer ; makes 
her his bride, and then sets out with her for King 
Arthur's court. 

Such is the fable of this ancient piece : which the 
reader may observe, is as regular in its conduct, as 
any of the finest poems of classical antiquity. If the 
execution, particularly as to the diction and senti- 
ments, were but equal to the plan, it would be a 
capital performance ; but this is such as might be 
expected in rude and ignorant times, and in a bar- 
barous unpolished language. 

IV. I shall conclude this prolix account, with a 
list of such old metrical romances as are still extant ; 
beginning with those mentioned by Chaucer. 

1. The romance of " Home Childe" is preserved 
in the British Muesum, where it is intitled be jesre 
of King Home. See Catalog. Harl. MSS. 9953, 
p. 70. The language is almost Saxon, yet from the 
mention in it of Sarazens, it appears to have been 
written after some of the Crusades. It begins thus : 

All heo ben blybe 

pat to my sons }'h'? e '• 

A sonj ychulle ou sinj 

Of Allof be sode kyn S e*, &c 
Another copy of this poem, but greatly altered, 
and somewhat modernized, is preserved in the Ad- 
vocates' Library at Edinburgh, in a MS. quarto 
volume of old English poetry [W. 4. 1.] No. xxxiv. 
in seven leaves or foliosf, intitled, Hornchild and 
Maiden Rinivel, and beginning thus : 

Mi leve frende dere, 
Herken and ye may here. 

2. The Poem of Ipotis (or Ypotis) is preserved in 
the Cotton Library, Calig. A. 2, fo. 77, but is rather 
a religious legend, than a romance. Its beggining 
is, 

He bat wyll of wysdome here 

Herkeneth now ze may here 

Of a tale of holy wrvte 

Seynt .Ion the Kvangelvste wytnesseth bvt. 

3. The Romance of Sir Guy was written before 
that of Revis, being quoted in it+. An account of 
this old poem is given in Series I. Rook ii. No. 1. 



• i. «■. May all they be blithe, that to ■•n-r *ong listen: A 
MBg 1 >li.»U you ilng, <>f Allot the good king, fee. 

•> In < a<h lull page Of this \ol. arc toil\ -lour lines, when 
the poem is in lout; nude: and eight) -eight when the metre 
ll short, ami the page in two columns. 

t Sign. K. 2. b. 



ON THE ANCIENT METICAL ROMANCES, &c. 



193 



To which it may be added, that two complete copies 
in MS. are preserved at Cambridge, the one in the 
public Library*, the other in that of Caius College, 

Class A. 8. In Ames's Typog. p. 153, may be 

seen the first lines of the printed copy. — The first 
MS. begins, 

Sythe the tyme that God was borne. 

4. Guy and Colbronde, an old romance in three 
parts, is preserved in the Editor's folio MS. (p. 349) 
It is in stanzas of six lines, the first of which may 
be seen in vol. ii. p. 191, beginning thus : 

When meate and drinke is great plentye. 

. In the Edinburgh MS. (mentioned above) are two 
ancient poems on the subject of Guy of Warwick : 
j viz. No. xviii. containing twenty-six leaves, and 
! xx. fifty-nine leaves. Both these have unfortu- 
'■ nately the beginnings wanting, otherwise they would 
! perhaps be found to be different copies of one or 
both the proceeding articles. 

5. From the same MS. I can add another article 
to this list, viz. The Romance of Rembrun son of Sir 

j Guy ; being No. xxi. in nine leaves : this is pro- 

J perly a continuation of the History of Guy: and in 

art. 3, the Hist, of Rembrun follows that of Guy as 

a necessary part of it. This Edinburgh Romance 

of Rembrun begins thus : 

Jesu that erst of mighte most 
Fader and Sone and Holy Ghost. 

Before I quit the subject of Sir Guy, I must ob- 
serve, that if we may believe Dugdale in his Baron- 
age (vol. i. p. 243, col. 2). the fame of our English 
Champion had in the time of Henry IV. travelled as 
far as the East, and was no less popular among the 
Sarazens, than here in the West among the nations 
of Christendom. In that reign a Lord Beauchamp 
travelling to Jerusalem, was kindly received by a 
noble person, the Soldan's lieutenant, who hearing 
he was descended from the famous Guy of Warwick, 
" whose story they had in books of their own lan- 
guage," invited him to his palace ; and royally feast- 
ing him, presented him with three precious stones of 
great value ; besides divers cloaths of silk and gold 
given to his servants. 

6. The Romance of Syr Bevis is described in 
Series I. Book hi. No. 1. Two manuscript copies 
of this poem are extant at Cambridge ; viz. in the 
public Libraryf, and in that of Caius Coll. Class A. 
9. (5.) — The first of these begins, 

Lordyngs lystenyth grete and smale. 

There is also a copy of this Romance of Sir Bevis 
of Hamptoun, in the Edinburgh MS. No. xxii. con- 
sisting of twenty-five leaves, and beginning thus : 

Lordinges herkneth to mi tale, 
Is merier than the nightengale. 

The printed copies begin different from both : viz. 

Lysten, Lordinges, and hold you styl. 

* For tbis and most of the following, which are mentioned 
as preserved in the public Library, I refer the reader to the 
Oxon Catalogue of MSS. 1697, vol. ii, p. 394; in Appendix 
to Bishop Moore's MSS. No. C90, 33, since given to the 
University of Cambridge. 

t No. 690, sec. 31. Vid. Catalog. MSS. p. 394. 



7. Libeaux (Libeaus, or Lybius) Disconius is pre- 
served in the Editors folio MS. (pag. 317.^) where 
the first stanza is, 

Jesus Christ christen kinge, 

And his mother that sweete thinge, 

Helpe them at their neede, 
That will listen to my tale, 
Of a Knight I will you tell, 

A doughty man of deede, 

An older copy is preserved in the Cotton Library 
(Calig. A. 2. fol. 40), but containing such innumer- 
able variations, that it is apparently a different trans- 
lation of some old French original, which will ac- 
count for the title of Le Beaux Disconus, or The 
Fair Unknown, the first line is, 

Jesu Christ our Savyour. 

As for Pleindamour, or Blandamoure, no romance 
with this title has been discovered ; but as the word 
Blaundemere occurs in the romance of Libius Disco- 
nius, in the Editor's folio MS. p. 319, he thought 
the name of Blandamoure (which was in all 
the editions of Chaucer he had then seen) might 
have some reference to this. But Pleindamour, the 
name restored by Mr. Tyrrwhitt, is more remote. 

8. Le Morte Ariliure is among the Harl. MSS. 
2252,$ 49. This is judged to be a translation from 
the French ; Mr. Wanley thinks it no older than the 
time of Henry VII. but it seems to be quoted in Syr 
Bevis (Sign K. ij b.) It begins, 

Lordinges that are leffe and deare. 
In the Library of Bennet College, Cambridge, No. 
cccli. is a MS. intitled, in the catalogue, Acta Arthuris 
Metrico Anglicano, but I know not its contents. 

9. In the Editor's folio MS. are many songs and 
romances about King Arthur and his Knights, some 
of which are very imperfect, as King Arthur and the 
King of Cornwall, (p. 24.) in stanzas of four lines, 
beginning, 

' Come here,' my cozen Gawaine so gay. 

The Turke and Gawain (p. 38), in stanzas of six 
lines, beginning thus : 

Listen lords great and small*, 
but these are so imperfect that I donotmake distinct 
articles of them. See also Series I. Book i. No. 1, 2, 
4,5. 

In the same MS. (p. 203) is the Greene Knight, in 
two parts, relating a curious adventure of Sir Gawain, 
in stanzas of six lines, beginning thus : 
List : when Arthur he was k : 

10. The Carle of Carlisle is another romantic tale 
about Sir Gawain, in the same MS. p. 448, in dis- 
tichs : 

Listen : to me a litle stond. 
In all these old poems the same set of knights are 
always represented with the same manners and cha- 
racters; which seem to have been as well known, 
and as distinctly marked among our ancestors, as 



* In the former editions ; after the above, followed mention 
of a fragment in the same MS. imitled, Sir Lionel, in dts 
tichs (p. 31) ; but this being only a short hallad, and uot 
relating to King Arthur is here omitted. 

o 



191 



ON Till; ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES, ice. 



Homer's heroes were among the Greeks; for, as 
Ulytaa jsslwaya re p re s ented crafty, Achilla irascible 
and Ajdx rough ; so Sir Gatoatn is over courteous 
and gentle, Sir Kay ragged and disobliging, Sec. 
" Sir Gotooin with his olde curtate," is mentioned by 
Cbaucer as noted to a proverb, in bis Squire's Tales. 
Canterb. Tales, vol. ii. p. 101. 

11. Syr I.atuifal, an excellent old romance con- 
cerning anotber of King Arthurs knigbts, is pre- 
served m the Cotton Library, Calig. A. 2. f. 33. 
This is a translation from tbe Frencb*, made by one 
Thomas Chestre, wbo is supposed to bave lived in tbe 
reign of Henry VI. (See Tanner's Bibliotb.) It is 
in stanzas of six lines, and begins, 

Be douzty Artours dawes. 

Tbe above was afterwards altered by some min- 
strel into tbe romance of Sir Lambewell, in tbree 
parts, under which title it was more generally 
knownf. This is in tbe Editor's folio MS. p. 60, 
beginning thus : 

Doughty in King Arthures dayes. 

12. Eger and Grime, in six parts (in the Editor's 
folio MS. p. 124.) is a well invented tale of chivalry, 
scarce inferior to any of Ariosto's. Tins, which was 
inadvertently omitted in the former editions of this 
list, is in distichs, and begins thus : 

It fell sometimes in the land of Beame. 

13. Tbe Romance of Merline, in nine parts, (pre- 
served in tbe same folio MS. p. 145) gives a curious 
account of the birth, parentage, and juvenile adven- 
tures of this famous British prophet. In this poem 
the Saxons are called Sarazens ; and the thrusting 
tbe rebel angels out of Heaven is attributed to " oure 
Lady" It is in distichs, and begins thus : 

He that made with his hand. 

There is an old romance Of Arthour and of Merlin, 
in the Edinburgh MS. of old English poems : I know 
not whether it has any thing in common with this 
last mentioned. It is in the volume numbered xxiii., 
and extends through fifty-five leaves. The two first 
lines are, 

Jesu Crist, heven king, 
Al ous graunt gode ending. 

14. Sir Jsenbras (or as it is in the MS. copies, Sir 
Isumhras) is quoted in Chaucer's R. of Thop. v. 6. 

Among Mr. Garrick's old plays is a printed copy ; of 
which an account has been already given in Series I. 
Book iii. No. 8. It is preserved in MS. in tbe Li- 
brary of Caius Coll. Camb. Class A. 9. (2) and also 
in the Cotton Library, Calig. A. 12. (f. 128.) This 
is extremely difFerem from the printed copy, E. g. 

God bat made both erfce and bevene. 

15. I'.nmrt , B very curious and ancient romance, is 
preserved in the same volume of the Cotton Library, 

f. 69. Ii is in stanzas <>f six lines, and begins thus: 
Jesu bal yt Icj ir_ r in trone. 



• The Preach original i< preserved among theHarl. MSS 

J, tee. 112, LowboL 
+ See Lanebam'i Letter concerning Queen BMzabeth'a 
entertainment at KJllingworth, i. r >7. r », Mmo, p. 31. 



16. Chevelere assigne, or, The Knight of the Swan, 
preserved in the Cotton Library, lias been already 
described in the Essay on P. Plowman's Metre, &C 
Series 11. Book iii. No. 1, as hath also 

17. The Sege of Jerlam (or Jerusalem), which 
seems to have been written after the other, and may 
not improperly be classed among tbe romances ; as 
may also the following, which is preserved in the 
same volume; viz. 

18. Ouaine Myles, (fol. 90) giving an account of 
the wonders of St. Patrick's Purgatory. This is a 
translation into verse of the story related in Mat 
Paris's Hist. (sub. ann. 1153.) — It is in distichs be- 
ginning thus : 

God bat ys so full of my fe ht. 
In the same manuscript are three or four other 
narrative poems, which might be reckoned among 
the romances, but being rather religious legends, I 
shall barely mention them ; as Tundale f. 17. Tren- 
tale Sci Gregorii, f. 8 1. Jerome, f. 133. Eustache, 
f. 136. 

19. Octavian imperator, an ancient romance of chi- 
valry, is in the same volume of the Cotton Library, 
f. 20. — Notwithstanding the name, this old poem 
has nothing in common with the history of the Ro- 
man emperors. It is in a very peculiar kind of 
stanza, whereof 1, 2, 3, and 5, rhyme together, as 
do 4 and 6. ' It begins thus 

Ihesu bat was with spere ystonge. 

In the public Library at Cambridge*, is a poem 
with the same title, that begins very differently 

Lyttyll and mykyll, olde and yonge. 

20. Eglamour of Artas (or Artoys) is preserved in 
the same volume with the foregoing, both in the 
Cotton Library, and public Library at Cambridge. 
It is also in the Editor's folio MS. (p. 295,) where it 
is divided into six parts. — A printed copy is in the 
Bodleian Library, C. 39. Art. Seld. and also among 
Mr. Garrick's old plays, K. vol. x. It is in distichs, 
and begins thus : 



21. Syr Tr'uimore (in stanzas of six lines) is pre- 
served in MS. in the Editor's volume (p. 210), and 
in the public Library at Cambridge, (690, § 29. 
Vid. Cat. MSS. p. 394 ) — Two printed copies are 
extant in the Bodleian Library, and among Mr. 
Garrick's plays, in the same volumes with the last 
article. Both the Editor's MS. and tbe printed co 
pies begin, 

Nowe Jesu Chryste our heven kvnge 

The Cambridge copy tints : 

Heven blys that all shall wynne. 

22. Sir Degree (Degare, or Degore, which last 
seems the true title,) in five parts, in distichs, is 
preserved in the Editor's folio MS. p. 371, and in 
the public Library at Cambridge (ubi supra.) — A 
printed copy is in the Bod. Library, C. 39. Art. Seld. 

• No. 600 (30). Vid. Oxon. Catalog. MSS. p. 394. 



ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES, &c. 



195 



and among Mr. Gavrick's plays, K. vol. ix. The 
Editor's MS. and the printed copies begin, 

Lordinge, and you wyl holde you styl. 
The Cambridge MS. has it, 

Lystenyth, lordyngis, gente and fre. 

23. Ipnmydon (or Chylde Ipomydon) is preserved 
among the Harl. MSS. 2252, (44.) It is in distichs, 
and begins, 

Mekely, lordyngis, gentylle and fre. 

In the Library of Lincoln Cathedral, K k. 3. 10. 
is an old imperfect printed copy, wanting the whole 
first sheet A. 

24. The Squyr of Lowe Degre, is one of those bur- 
lesqued by Chaucer in his Rhyme of Thopas *. — 
Mr. Garrick has a printed copy of this among his 
old plays, K. vol. ix. It begins, 

It was a squyer of lowe degre, 

That loved the kings daughter of Hungre. 

25. Historye of K. Richard Cure [Coeur] de Lyon 
(Impr. W. de Worde, 1528, 4to.) is preserved in the 
Bodleian Library, C. 39. x\rt. Selden. A fragment 
of it is also remaining in the Edinburgh MS. of old 
English poems, No. xxxvii. in two leaves. A large 
extract from this romance has been given already 
above (p. 190.) Richard was the peculiar patron of 
chivalry, and favourite of the old minstrels and 
Troubadours. See Warton's Observ. vol. i. p. 29. ; 
vol. ii. p. 40. 

26. Of the following I have only seen No. xxvii, 
but I believe they may all be referred to the class of 
romances. 

The Knight of Courtesy and the Lady of Faguel 
(Bodl. Lib. C. 39. Art. Sheld. a printed copy.) This 
Mr. VVarton thinks is the story of Coucy's Heart, 
related in Fauchet, and in Howel's Letters (v. i. s. 6. 
1. 20. See Wart. Obs. v. ii. p. 40.) The Editor has 
seen a very beautiful old ballad on this subject in 
French. 

27. The four following are all preserved in the 
MS. so often referred to in the public Library at 
Cambridge (690. Appendix to Bp. More's MSS. in 
Cat. MSS. torn. ii. p. 394,) viz. The Lay of Erie of 
Tholouse, (No. xxvii,) of which the Editor hath also 
a copy from " Cod. MSS. Mus. Ashmol. Oxon." 
The first line of both is, 

Jesu Chryste in Trynyte. 

28. Ttoberd Kynge of Cysyll (or Sicilly,) shewing 
the fall of pride. Of this there is also a copy among 
the Harl. MSS. 1703 (3.) The Cambridge MS. 
begins, 

Princis that be prowde in prese. 

29. Le bone Florence of Rome, beginning thus : 

As ferre as men ride or gone. 

30. Dioclesian the Emperour, beginning, 

Sum tyme ther was a noble man. 

* This is alluded to by Shakespeare in his Henry V. (Act 
5 ) where Fluellyn tells Pistol, he will make him a squire 
of low degree, when he means to knock him down. 



31. The two knightly brothers Amys and Amelion 
(among the Harl. MSS. 2386, § 42) is an old ro- 
mance of chivalry ; as is also, I believe, the frag- 
ment of the Lady Belesant, the duke of Lombardy's 

fair daughter, mentioned in the same article. See 
the Catalog, vol. ii. 

32. In the Edinburgh MS. so often referred to 
(preserved in the Advocates' Library, W. 4. 1,) 
might probably be found some other articles to add 
to this list, as well as other copies of some of the 
pieces mentioned in it ; for the whole volume con 
tains not fewer than thirty-seven poems or ro 
mances, some of them very long. But as many ot 
them have lost the beginnings, which have been cut 
out for the sake of the illuminations, and as I have 
not had an opportunity of examining the MS. my- 
self, I shall be content to mention only the articles 
that follow * ; viz. 

An old romance about Rouland (not I believe the 
famous Paladine, but a champion named Rouland 
Louth ; query) being in the volume, No. xxvii, in 
five leaves, and wants the beginning. 

33. Another romance, that seems to be a kind of 
continuation of this last, intitled, Otuel a Knight 
(No. xxviii, in eleven leaves and a half.) The two 
first lines are, 

Herkneth both zinge and old, 
That willen heren of battailes bold. 

34. The King of Tars (No. iv, in five leaves and a 
half; it is also in the Bodleian Library, MS. Vernon, 
f. 304) beginning thus : 

Herkneth to me both eld and zing, 
For Maries love that swete thing. 

35. A tale or romance (No. i, two leaves) that 
wants both beginning and end. The first lines now 
remaining are, 

The Erl him graunted his will y-wis. that the 

knicht him haden y told. 
The Baronnis that were of mikle pris. befor him 

thay weren y-cald. 

36. Another mutilated tale or romance (No. iii. 
four leaves.) The first lines at present are, 

To Mr. Steward will y gon. and tellen him the 

sothe of the 
Reseyved bestow sone anon gif zou will serve 

and with hir be. 

37. A mutilated tale or romance (No. xi. in thir- 
teen leaves.) The two first lines that occur are, 

That riche Dooke his fest gan hold 
With Erls and with Baronns bold. 

I cannot conclude my account of this curious man- 
uscript, without acknowledging that I was in- 
debted to the friendship of the Rev. Dr. Blair, the 
ingenious professor of Belles Lettres in the Univer- 
sity of Edinburgh, for whatever I learned of its 
contents, and for the important additions it enabled 
me to make to the foregoing list. 

To the preceding articles, two ancient metrical 

* Some of these I give, though mutilated and divested of 
their titles, because they may enable a curious inquirer to 
complete or improve other copies. 

o 2 



196 



THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 



romances in the Scottish dialect may now be added, 
which are published in Pinkerton's " Scottish 
Poems, reprinted from scarce editions." Lond. 1792, 

in 3 vols. 8vo. viz. 

38. Gaican and Gologras, a metrical romance, 
from an edition printed at Edinburgh, 1508, 8vo. 
beginning', 

In the tyme of Arthur, as trew men me laid. 

It is in stanzas of thirteen lines. 

39. Sir Gairan and Sir Galaron of Galloway, a 
metrical romance, ill the same stanzas as No.xxxviii, 
from an ancient MS. beginning thus: 

In the tyme of Arthur an aunter * betydde 
By the Tumwathelan, as the boke tells ; 
"Whan he to Carlele was comen, and conqueror 
kyd, &c. 
Both these (which exhibit the union of the old 
alliterative metre, with rhyme, &c. and in the ter- 
mination of each stanza the short triplets of the Tur- 
nament of Tottenham) are judged to be as old as 
the time of cur King Henry VI., being apparently 
the production of an old poet, thus mentioned by 



Dunbar, in his " Lament for the Death of the Mak- 
karis :" 

" Clerk of Tranent eik he lies take, 

That made the aventures of Sir Gawane." 

It will scarce be necessary to remind the reader, 
that Turnewathelan is evidently Teame-Wadling, ce- 
lebrated in the old ballad of the Marriage of Sir 
Gawaine. See the concluding Notes to No. 4, 
Series I. Book i, and No. 19, Series I. Book iii. 

Many new references, and perhaps some addi- 
tional articles might be added to ( the foregoing list 
from Mr. Warton's " History of English Peenry," 
3 vols. 4to., and from the notes to Mr. Tyrwhitt's 
improved edition of " Chaucer's Canterbury Tales," 
&c, in 5 vols. 8vo., which havt been published since 
this Essay, &c. was first composed ; but it will be 
sufficient once for all to refer the curious reader to 
those popular works. 

The reader will also see many interesting parti- 
culars on the subject of these volumes, as well as on 
most points of general literature, in Sir John Haw- 
kins's curious " History of Music," &c. in 5 vols. 
4to. as also in Dr. Burner's History, &c. in 4 vols. 
4to. 



THE END OF THE ESSAY. 



I. 

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 



Is printed yerbatim from the old MS. 

described in the Preface. The Editor believes it 
more ancient than it will appear to be at. first sight; 
the transcriber of that manuscript having reduced 
the orthography and style in many instances to the 
standard of his own times. 

The incidents of the •* Mantle" and the " Knife" 

i have not, that I can recollect, been borrowed from 

any other writer. The former of these evidently 

suggested to Spenser his conceit of " Florimel's 

Girdle," B. iv. C. 5, St. 3. 

That girdle gave the virtue of chaste love 
And wivehood true to all that did it beare ; 
But whosoever contrarie doth prove, 
Might not the same about her middle weare, 
But it would loose or else asunder teare. 

So it happened to the false Florimell, st. 16, when 

Being brought, about her middle small 

They thought to gird, as best it her became, 
But by no means they could it thereto frame, 
For ever as they fastned it, it loos'd 
And fell away, as feeling secret blame, &c. 
Thai all men wondred at the uncouth sight 

And each one thought as to their fancies came. 
But sin- herself did think it done for spight, 
And touched na> with secret wrath and shame 

Therewith, as thing deviz'd her to defame ■ 
Then many other ladies likewise bide 

About their tender loynes to knit the same, 
Bui it would not OB none of them ahide, 
But when they thought it fast, eftsooiies it wasuntide. 

Thereat all knights gao laugh and ladies lowre, 

Till that at last the gentle Ainoret 

Likewi e as ayed to prove thai girdle's poM re. 
And having il abonl l>< t middle 

• i. b> Adveotnre, 



Did find it fit withouten breach or let, 
Whereat the rest gan greatly to envie. 
But Florimel exceedingly did fret, 
And snatching from her hand, &c. 

As for the trial of the Home, it is not peculiar to our 
Poet : It occurs in the old Romance, intitled " Morte 
Arthur," which was translated out of French in the 
time of King Edward IV., and first printed anno 
1484. From that romance Ariosto is thought to have 
borrowed his tale of the Enchanted Cup, C. 42, t \c. 
See Mr. Warton's Observations on the Faerie Queen, 
&c. 

The story of the Horn in Morte Arthur varies a 
good deal from this of our Poet, as the reader will 

judge from the following extract. " By the way 

they met with a knight that was sent from Morgan 
la Fave to King Arthur, and this knight had a fair 
home all garnished with gold, and the borne had 
such a virtue, that there might no ladye or gentle- 
woman drinke of that borne, but if she were true to 
her husband : and if shee were false she should spill 
all the drinke, and if shee were true unto her lorde, 
shee might drink peaceably : and because of Queene 
Guenever and in despite of Sir l.auncelot du Lake, 

this home was sent unto King Arthur." This 

horn is intercepted and brought unto another king 
named Marke, who is not a w hit more fortunate than 
the British hero, for he makes " his qeene drinke 
thereof and an hundred ladies moe, and there were 
but fours ladies of all those that dranke cleane," of 
which number the said queen proves not to be one 
[ Hook II, chap, it, Ed. 1632.] 

In other respects the two stories are so different, 
that we have JUSI reason to suppose this Ballad was 
written hefore that romance was translated into 
English. 

As for Queen Guenever, she is here represented 



THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 



197 



no otherwise than in the old Histories and Romances. 
Holinshed observes, that " she was evil reported of, 
as noted of incontinence and breach of faith to hir 
husband." Vol. I, p. 93. 

*** Such Readers, as have no relish for pure 
antiquity, will find a more modern copy of this 
Ballad at the end of the volume. 

In the third day of may, 
To Carleile did come 
A kind curteous child, 
That cold much of wisdome. 

A kirtle and a mantle 5 

This child had uppon, 
With ' brouches' and ringes 
Full richelye bedone. 

He had a sute of silke 

About his middle drawne ; 10 

Without he cold of curtesye 

He thought itt much shame. 

God speed thee, King Arthur, 

Sitting at thy meate : 

And the goodly Queene Guenever, 1*) 

I cannott her forgett. 

I tell you, lords, in this hall ; 

I hett you all to ' heede' ; 

Except you be the more surer 

Is you for to dread. 20 

He plucked out of his ' poterner,' 
And longer wold not dwell, 
He pulled forth a pretty mantle, 
Betweene two nut-shells. 

Have thou here, King Arthur ; 25 

Have thou heere of mee : 
Give itt to thy comely queene 
Shapen as itt is alreadya 

Itt shall never become that wiffe, 
That hath once done amisse. 30 

Then every knight in the kings court 
Began to care for ' his ' 

Forth came dame Guenever ; 

To the mantle shee her ' hied' ; 

The ladye shee was newfangle, 35 

But yett shee was affrayd. 

When shee had taken the mantle ; 

She stoode as shee had beene madd : 

It was from the top to the toe 

As sheeres had itt shread. 40 

One while was it ' gule' ; 
Another while was itt greene ; 
Another while was it wadded : 
111 itt did her beseeme. 

Another while was it blacke 45 

And bore the worst hue : 

By my troth, quoth King Arthur, 

I thinke thou be not true. 



Ver, 7, branches, MS. V. 18, heate, MS. V. 21, poter- 
ver, MS. V. 32, his wiffe, MS. V. 34, bided, MS. V. 41, 
gaule, MS. 



Shee threw downe the mantle, 

That bright was of blee ; 50 

Fast with a rudd redd, 

To her chamber can shee flee. 

She curst the weaver, and the walker, 

That clothe that had wrought ; 

And bade a vengeance on his crowne, 55 

That hither hath itt brought. 

I had rather be in a wood, 

Under a greene tree ; 

Then in King Arthurs court 

Shamed for to bee. 60 

Kay called forth his ladye, 
And bade her come neere ; 
Saies, Madam, and thou be guiltye, 
I pray thee hold thee there. 

Forth came his ladye 65 

Shortlye and anon ; 
Boldlye to the mantle 
Then is shee gone. 

When she had tane the mantle, 

And cast it her about j 70 

Then was shee bare 

1 Before all the rout.' 

Then ever knight, 

That was in the kings court, 

Talked, laughed, and showted 75 

Full oft att that sport. 

Shee threw downe the mantle, 

That bright was of blee ; 

Fast, with a red rudd, 

To her chamber can shee flee. 80 

Forth came an old knight 
Pattering ore a creede, 
And he proferred to this litle boy 
Twenty markes to his meede ; 

And all the time of the Christmasse 85 

Willinglye to ffeede ; 

For why this mantle might 

Doe his wiffe some need. 

When she had tane the mantle, 

Of cloth that was made, 90 

Shee had no more left on her, 

But a tassell and a threed : 

Then every knight in the kings court 

Bade evill might shee speed. 

Shee threw downe the mantle, 95 

That bright was of blee ; 
And fast, with a redd rudd, 
To her chamber can shee flee 

Craddocke called forth his ladye, 

And bade her come in ; 1 00 

Saith, Winne this mantle, ladye, 

With a little dinne. 

Ver. 75, langed. 



J9« 



THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 



Winne this mantle, ladve, 

And it shal be thine. 

If thou never did BimSM 105 

Since thou wa*t mine. 

Forth came Craddockes hulve 

Shortlve and anon ; 

Hut boldlve to the mantle 

Then is shee gone. HO 

When she had tane the mantle, 

And cast it her about, 

Upp att her great toe 

It began to crinkle and crowt : 

Shee said, bowe downe, mantle, 115 

And shame me not for nought. 

Once I did amisse, 

I tell you certainlye, 

"When I kist Craddockes mouth 

Under a greene tree ; 1'20 

When I kist Craddockes mouth 

Before he marryed mee. 

When shee had her shreeven, 

And her sines shee had tolde ; 

The mantle stode about her 12 ^ 

Right as shee wold : 

Seemelye of coulour 

Glittering like gold : 

Then every knight in Arthurs court 

Did her behold. 1 30 

Then spake dame Guenever 
To Arthur our king ; 
She hath tane yonder mantle 
Not with right, but with wronge 

See you not yonder woman, 1 35 

That maketh her self soe ' cleane' ? 
I have seene tane out of her bedd 
Of men fiveteene ; 

Priests, clarkes, and wedded men 

From her bedeene : 1-10 

Yett shee taketh the mantle, 

And maketh her self cleane. 

Then spake the litle boy, 

That kept the mantle in hold ; 

Sayes, king, chasten thy wiffe, 1-15 

Of her words shee is to bold : 

Shee is a bitch and a witch, 

And a whore bold : 

King, in thine owne hall 

Thou art a cuckold. 1 50 



v.r. 184, Wright, MS. 

dccnc, MS. 



V. 130, cleans, MS. V. MO, by 



The litle boy stoode 
Looking out a dore ; 
' And there as he was look in ge 
He was ware of a wyld bore.' 

He was ware of a wyld bore, 155 

Wold have werryed a man : 

He pulld forth a wood kniffe 

Fast thither that he ran : 

He brought in the bores head, 

And quitted him like a man. 160 

He brought in the bores head, 

And was wonderous bold : 

He said there was never a cuckolds kniffe 

Carve itt that cold. 



Some rubbed their knives 1 G5 

Uppon a whetstone : 

Some threw them under the table, 

And said they had none. 

King Arthur, and the child 

Stood looking upon them ; 170 

All their knives edges 

Turned backe againe. 

Craddocke had a litle knive 

Of iron and of Steele ; 

He britled the bores head 175 

Wonderous weele ; 

That every knight in the kings court 

Had a morssell. 

The litle boy had a home, 

Of red gold that ronge : 1 Bo 

He said, there was noe cuckolde 

Shall drinke of my borne ; 

But he shold it sheede 

Either behind or beforne. 

Some shedd on their shoulder, 185 

And some on their knee ; 

He that cold not hitt his mouthe, 

Put it in his eye : 

And he that was a cuckold 

Every man might him see. 190 

Craddocke wan the home, 

And the bores head : 

His ladie wan the mantle 

Unto her meede. 

Everye such a lovely ladve 195 

God send her well to speede. 



170, them upon, MS. V. 175, or biilltd, MS. 



THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 


199 


II. 
THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 




Is chiefly taken from the fragment of an old 


And when I told him, King Arthure 




ballad in the Editor's MS. which he has reason to 


As lyttle shold him spare ; 




believe more ancient than the time of Chaucer 


, and 


Goe tell, sayd hee, that cuckold kinge, 




what furnished that bard with his Wife of Bath's 


To meete mee if he dare. 


40 


Tale. The original was so extremely mutilated, 


half 






of every leaf being torn away, that without large 


Upp then sterted King Arthure, 




supplements, &c. it was deemed improper for 


this 


And sware by hille and dale, 




collection : these it has therefore received, such as 


He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme barone 




they are. They are not here particularly pointed 


Till he had made him quail. 




out, because the "Fragment" itself will now be found 






printed at the end of this volume. 




Goe fetch my sword Excalibar : 
Goe saddle mee my steede ; 


45 


PART THE FIRST. 




Nowe, by my faye, that grimme barone 




King Arthur lives in merry Carleile, 




Shall rue this ruthfulle deede. 










And seemely is to see ; 




And when he came to Tearne Wadlinge 




And there with him Queene Guenever, 




Benethe the castle walle : 


50 


That bride soe bright of blee. 




" Come forth ; come forth ; thou proude barone, 






Or yielde thyself my thralle." 




And there with him Queene Guenever, 


5 




That bride so bright in bowre : 


, 


On magicke grounde that castle stoode, 




And all his barons about him stoode, 




And fenc'd with many a spelle : 




That were both stifle and stowre. 




Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon, 
But straite his courage felle. 


55 


The king a royale Christmasse kept, 
With mirth and princelye cheare ; 
To him repaired many a knighte, 








10 


Forth then rush'd that carlish knight, 






King Arthur felte the charme : 




That came both farre and neare. 




His sturdy sinewes lost their strengthe, 








Downe sunke his feeble arme. 


60 


And when they were to dinner sette, 

And cups went freely round : 
Before them came a faire damselle, 










Nowe yield thee, yield thee, Kinge Arthure, 




15 


Now yield thee, unto mee : 




And knelt upon the ground. 




Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande, 
Noe better termes mave bee, 




A boone, a boone, Kinge Arthure, 








I beg a boone of thee ; 




Unlesse thou sweare upon the rood, 


65 


Avenge me of a carlish knighte. 




And promise on thy faye, 




Who hath shent my love and mee. 


20 


Here to returne to Tearne-Wadling, 






Upon the new-yeare's daye : 




At Tearne-Wadling* his castle stands, 
Near to that lake so fair, 




And bringe me worde what thing it is 




And proudlye rise the battlements, 
And streamers deck the air. 




All women moste desyre : 


70 




This is thy ransome, Arthur, he sayes, 








He have noe other hyre. 




Noe gentle knighte, nor ladye gay, 
May pass that castle-walle : 


25 


King Arthur then helde up his hande, 
And sware upon his faye, 




But from that foule discurteous knighte, 






Mishappe will them befalle. 




Then tooke his leave of the grimme barone, 
And faste hee rode awaye. 


75 


Hee's twyce the size of common men, 
Wi' thewes, and sinewes stronge, 


30 


And he rode east, and he rode west, 




And on his backe he bears a clubbe, 




And did of all inquyre, 




That is both thicke and longe. 




What thing it is all women cr<ive, 








And what they most desyre. 


80 


This grimme barone 'twas our harde happe, 

But yester morne to see ; 
When to his bowre he bare my love, 

And sore misused mee. 








S5 


Some told him riches, pompe, or sta'e ; 
Some rayment fine and brighte ; 






Some told him mirthe ; some flatterye, 








And some a jollye knighte. 




* Tearne-Wadling is the name of a small lake near 


Hes- 


keth in Cumberland, on the road from Penrith to Ca 


rlisle. 


In letters all King Arthur wrote, . 


85 


There is a tradition, that an old castle once stood near the 


And seal'd them with his ringe : 




lake, the remains of which were not Ion? since visible. 
Team, in the dialect of that country, signifies a small lake, 


But still his minde was helde in doubte, 




and is still in use. 




Each tolde a different thinge. 







300 THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 






As ruthfulle lie rode over a more, 


This morne, as I came over a more, 








He siiue ■ ladye setts 90 


I saw a ladye sette 








Betweeoe an oke, ami a greene holleye, 


Betwene an oke, and a greene holleye, 








All clad in red* Boarlette. 


All clad in red scarlette. 








Her nose was crookt and turnd outwarde, 


Shee sayes, all women will have their wille, 


1 45 






Her chin stoode all awrve; 


This is their chief desyre ; 








And where as sholde have been her mouthe, 95 


Now yield, as thou art a barone true, 








Lo ! there was set her eye : 


That I have payd mine hyre. 








Her haires, like serpents, clung aboute 


An earlye vengeaunce light on her ! 








Her cheekes of deadlye hewe : 


The carlish baron swore : 


160 






A worse-forni'd ladye than she was, 


Shee was my sister tolde thee this, 








No man mote ever viewe. 100 


And shee's a mishapen whore. 








To hail the king in seemelye sorte 


But here I will make mine avowe, 








This ladye was fulle faine : 


To do her as ill a turne : 








But King Arthure all sore amaz'd, 


For an ever I may that foule theefe gette, 


155 






No aunswere made againe. 


In a fyre I will her burne. 








What wight art thou, the ladye sayd, 105 


PART THE SECOXDE. 








That wilt not speake to mee ; 










Sir, I may chance to ease thy paine, 


Homewarde pricked King Arthure, 








Though I bee foule to see. 


And a weary e man was hee ; 










And soone he mette Queene Guenever, 








If thou wilt ease my paine, he sayd, 


That bride so bright of blee. 








And helpe me in my neede ; 110 










Ask what thou wilt, thou grimme ladye, 


What newes ! what newes ! thou noble king 


5 






And it shall bee thy meede. 


Howe, Arthur, hast thou sped ? 








Where hast thou hung the carlish knighte 1 








O sweare mee this upon the roode, 


And where bestow 'd his head \ 








And promise on thy faye ; 










And here the secrette I will telle, 115 


The carlish knight is safe for mee, 








That shall thy ransome paye. 


And free fro mortal harme : 
On magicke grounde bis castle stands, 


10 






King Arthur promis'd on his faye, 


And fene'd with many a charme. 








And sware upon the roode ; 










The secrette than the ladye told, 


To bowe to him I was fulle faine, 








As lightlye well shee cou'de. 120 


And yielde mee to his hand : 
And but for a lothly ladye, there 


15 






Now this shall be my paye, sir king, 


I sholde have lost my land. 








And this my guerdon bee, 








That some yong fair and courtlye knight, 
Thou bringe to marrye mee. 


And nowe this fills my hearte with woe, 
And sorrowe of my life ; 








Fast then pricked King Arthure 125 
Ore hille, and dale, and dovvne : 


I swore a yonge and courtlye knight. 
Sholde marry her to his wife. 


20 






And soone he founde the barone's bowre : 










And soone the grimme baroune. 


Then bespake him Sir Gawaine, 
That was ever a gentle knighte : 








He bare his clubbe upon his backe, 


That lothly ladye I will wed ; 








Hee stoode bothe stifle and stronge ; 130 


Therefore be merrye und lighte. 








And, when he had the letters reade, 










Awaye the lettres ilunge. 


Nowe naye, nowe naye, good Sir Gawaine :. 

My sister's sonne yee baa ; 
This lothlye lathe's all too grimme, 


25 






Nowe yielde thee, Arthur, and thy lands, 

All foii'.ii unto nice ; 








And all too foule lor \ ee. 








For this is not thy paye, sir king, i;>/> 










Nor may thy ransome hie. 


Her nose is crookt ami turn'd outwardo : 








Yet hob 1 thy hand, thou proud bardne, 


Her cltin stands all awrve ; 


30 






I praye thee bold thy band ; 


A worse form'd ladye than shee is 








And kivc mee leave to speake once more 


Was never seen with eye. 








In reakowe of my land. 1 |0 


What though her chin stand all awrye, 
And shee be foule to see: 








* This w.is a commoo phrtM In oar old writers; m Chancer 






m liia Prologue to the Cant Tain, myi ol tbewifl of Bath; ' 


Til marry her, unkle, for thy sake, 


35 






Her lofM were of ' fj/ne marl.t r,d. 


And I'll thy ransome bee. 







THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 



201 



Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good Sir Gawaine ; 

And a blessing thee betyde ! 
To-morrow wee'll have knights and squires, 

And wee'll goe fetch thy bride. 40 

And wee'll have hawkes and wee'll have houndes, 

To cover our intent ; 
And wee'll away to the greene forest, 

As wee a hunting went. 

Sir Lancelot, Sir Stephen bolde, 45 

They rode with them that daye ; 
And foremoste of the companye 

There rode the stewarde Kaye : 

Soe did Sir Banier and Sir Bore, 

And eke Sir Garratte keene ; 50 

Sir Tristram too, that gentle knight, 

To the forest freshe and greene. 

And when they came to the greene forrest, 

Beneathe a faire holley tree 
There sate that ladye in red scarlette 55 

That unseemelye was to see. 

Sir Kay beheld that lady's face, 

And looked upon her sweere ; 
Whoever kisses that ladye, he sayes, 

Of his kisse he stands in feare. 60 

Sir Kay beheld that ladye againe, 

And looked upon her snout ; 
Whoever kisses that ladye, he sayes, 

Of his kisse he stands in doubt. 

Peace, brother Kay, sayde Sir Gawaine, 65 

And amend thee of thy life : 
For there is a knight amongst us all, 

Must marry her to his wife. 

W'hat marry this foule queane, quoth Kay, 

r the devil's name anone ; 70 

Gett mee a wife wherever I maye, 
In sooth shee shall be none. 

Then some tooke up their hawkes in haste, 

And some took up their houndes ; 
And sayd they wolde not marry her, 75 

For cities, nor for townes. 

Then bespake him King Arthure, 

And sware there by this daye ; 
For a little foule sighte and mislikinge, 

Yee shali not say hei naye. 80 

Peace, lordlings, peace ; Sir Gawaine sayd ; 

Nor make debate and strife j 
This lothlye ladye I will take, 

And marry her to my wife. 

Now thankes, nowe thankes, good Sir Gawaine, 85 

And a blessinge be thy meede I 
For as I am thine owne ladye, 

Thou never shalt rue this deede. 



Then up they took that lothly dame, 
And home anone they bringe : 

And there Sir Gawaine he her wed, 
And married her with a ringe, 



90 



And when they were in wed-bed laid, 

And all were done awaye : 
" Come turne to mee, mine own wed-lord, 95 

Come turne to mee I praye." 

Sir Gawaine scant could lift his head, 

For sorrowe and for care ; 
When, lo ! instead of that lothelye dame, 

He sawe a young ladye faire. 100 

Sweet blushes stayn'd her rud-red cheeke, 

Her eyen were blacke as sloe : 
The ripening cherrye swellde her lippe, 

And all her necke was snowe. 

Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady faire, 105 

Lying upon the sheete, 
And swore, as he was a true knighte, 

The spice was never soe sweete. . 

Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady brighte, 

Lying there by his side : 110 

" The fairest flower is not so faire : 

Thou never can'st bee my bride." 

I am thy bride, mine owne deare lorde, 
The same whiche thou didst knowe, 

That was soe lothlye, and was wont 115 

Upon the wild more to goe. 

Nowe, gentle Gawaine, chuse, quoth shee, 

And make thy choice with care ; 
Whether by night, or else by daye, 

Shall I be foule or faire 1 120 

" To have thee foule still in the night, 

When I with thee should playe ! 
I had rather farre, my lady deare, 

To have thee foule by daye." 

What when gaye ladyes goe with their lordes 125 

To drinke the ale and wine ; 
Alas ! then I must hide myself, 

I must not goe with mine? 

" My faire ladye, Sir Gawaine sayd, 

I yield me to thy skille ; J 30 

Because thou art mine owne ladye 

Thou shalt have all thy wille." 

Nowe blessed be thou, sweete Gawaine, 

And the daye that I thee see ; 
For as thou seest mee at this time, 135 

Soe shall I ever bee. 

My father was an aged knighte, 

And yet it chanced soe, 
He tooke to a wife a false ladye, 

Whiche broughte me to this woe. 140 

Shee witch'd mee, being a faire yonge maide, 

In the greene forest to dwelle ; 
And there to abide in lothlye shape, 

Most like a fiend of helle. 

Midst mores and mosses ; woods, and wilds ; 145 

To lead a lonesome life ; 
Till some yong faire and courtlye knighte 

Wolde marry e me to his wife : 

Nor fully to gaine mine owne trewe shape, 

Such was her devilish skille ; 150 

Until he wolde yielde to be rul'd by mee, 
And let mee have all my wille. 



tot 



KING RYENCES CHALLENGE. 



She witchd my brother to a carlish boore, 
And made aim stifle and Btronge ; 

And built him a bowre on magicke grounde, l.V 
To live by rapine and wronge. 



But now the spelle is broken throughe, 
And wronge is turnde to righte ; 

Henceforth I shall bee a faire ladye, 
And bee be a gentle knighte. 



160 



III. 



KING RYENCE'S CHALLENGE. 



This song is more modern than many of those 
which follow it, but is placed here for the sake of 
the subject. It was sung before Queen Elizabeth at 
the grand entertainment at Kenelworth castle in 
1575, and was probably composed for that occasion. 
In a letter describing those festivities it is thus 
mentioned : A " Minstral came forth with a sollem 
song, warranted for story out of King Arthur's acts, 
whereof I gat a copy, and is this : 

" So it fell out on a Pentecost, &c." 

After the song the narrative proceeds : " At this 
the Minstrell made a pause and a curtezy for Primus 
Passus. More of the song is thear, but I gatt it 
not." 

The story in Morte Arthur, whence it is taken, 
runs as follows : " Came a messenger hastely from 
KingRyence of North Wales, saying, that KingRyence 
had discomfited and overcomen eleaven kings, and 
everiche of them did him homage, and that was this : 
they gave him their beards cleane flayne off, — where- 
fore the messenger come for King Arthur's beard, 
for King Ryence had purfeled a mantell with 
kings beards, and there lacked for one a place of the 
mantell, wherefore he sent for his beard, or else he 
would enter into his lands, and brenn and slay, and 
never leave till he have thy head and thy beard. 
Well, said King Arthur, thou hast said thy message, 
which is the most villainous and lewdest message 
that ever man heard sent to a king. Also thou 
mayest see my beard is full young yet for to make a 
pur fell of, but tell thou the king that — or it be long he 
shall do to me homage on both his knees, or else he 
shall leese his head." [B'. 1. c. 24. See also the 
same Romance, B. I. c. 92.] 

The thought seems to be originally taken from 
Jeff. Monmouth's Hist. B. X. c. 3. which is alluded 
to by Drayton in his Poly-Olb. Song 4. and by 
Bpensex in Fair. Qu. 6. 1. 13. 15. See the Obser- 
vations on Spenser, vol. II. p. 223. 

The following text is composed of the best read- 
ings selected from three different copies. The first 

in Enderbie'a Cambria Trinmpnana, p. 197. The 

second in the Letter above mentioned. And the 
third inserted m MS. in s copy of Morte Arthur, 
tfi32j in the BodL Library. 

Stow tells us, that King Arthur kept his round 
table at " diverse places, but especially at Carlion, 
Winchester, and ( 'amulet in Somersetshire." This 
' Camalet," sometimes a famous towne or castle, is 
situate on a *' very high tor or hill, 8tC. M [See an 
exact description in Stow's Annals, Ed. 1631, p. 56.] 



As it fell out on a Pentecost day, 

King Arthur at Camelot kept his court rovall, 
With his faire queene dame Guenever the gay ; 

And many bold barons sitting in hall ; 

With ladies attired in purple and pall ; 
And heraults in hewkes booting on high, 
Cryed, Largesse, Largesse, Chevaliers tres-hardie*. 

A doughty dwarfe to the uppermost deas 
Right pertlye gan pricke, kneeling on knee ; 

With steven fulle stoute amids all the preas, 

Sayd, Nowe, sir King Arthur, God save thee, and 

seei 
Sir Ryence of North-gales greeteth well thee, 

And bids thee thy beard anon to him send, 

Or else from thy jaws he will it off rend. 

For his robe of state is a rich scarlet mantle, 
With eleven kings beards bordered t about, 

And there is roomlefte yet in a kantle, 

For thine to stande, to' make the twelfth out : 
This must be done, be thou never so stout ; 

This must be done, I tell thee no fable, 

Maugre the teeth of all thy round table. 



When this mortal message from his mouthe past, 

Great was the noyse bothe in hall and in bower : 
The king fum'd ; the queene screecht; ladies were 
aghast ; 
Princes puffd ; barons blustred ; lords began 

lower ; 
Knights stormed ; squires startled, like steeds in 
a stower ; 
Pages and yeomen yell'd out in the hall, 
Then in came Sir Kay, the ' king's' seneschal. 

Silence, mv soveraignes, quoth this courteous knight, 
And in that stound the stowre began slill : 

' Then' the dwarfe's dinner full deerelv was dight; 
Of wine and wassal he hail his wille : 
And, when he had eaten and drunken his fill, 

An hundred pieces of fine ooyned gold 

Were given this dwarf for his message bold. 



• Laryrssr, Laraeam. The heralds resounded these words 
U "it i- th<\ incised tit the bounty of the knights. See 
" Memolrea lie la Chevalerie," torn. I. p. 99. The expression 
is Mill ued In the form of Installing knights of the garter. 

t i. e. set round the border, as liirb are now round the gowns 
of Magistrates. 



KING ARTHUR'S DEATH. 



203 



But say to Sir Ryence, thou dwarf, quoth the king, 
That for his hold message I do him defye ; 

^nd shortlye with basins and pans will him ring 
Out of North-gales ; where he and I 
With swords, and not razors, quickly shall trye, 



Whether he, or King Arthur will prove the best barbor; 
And therewith he shook his good sword Escalabor. 

****** 

*„* Strada, in his Prolusions, has ridiculed the story 
of the Giant's Mantle, made of the beards of kings. 



IV. 



KING ARTHUR'S DEATH. 



A FRAGMENT. 



The subject of this ballad is evidently taken from 
the old romance " Morte Arthur," but with some 
variations, especially in the concluding stanzas ; in 
which the author seems rather to follow the tradi- 
tions of the old Welsh Bards, who " believed that 
King Arthur was not dead, but conveied awaie by 
the Fairies into some pleasant place, where he 
should remaine for a time, and then returne againe 
and reign in as great authority as ever." Hoi in shed, 
B. 5, c. 14 ; or, as it is expressed in an old Chroni- 
cle printed at Antwerp 1493, by Ger. de Leew, 
" The Bretons supposen, that he [King Arthur] shall 
come yet and conquere all Bretaigne, for certes this 
is the prophicye of Merlyn ; He sayd, that his deth 
shall be doubteous ; and sayd soth, for men thereof 
yet have doubte, and shullen for ever more, — for 
men wyt not whether that he lyveth or is dede." 
See more ancient testimonies in Selden's Notes on 
Polyolbion, song 3. 

This fragment, being very incorrect and imperfect 
in the original MS. hath received some conjectural 
emendations, and even a supplement of 3 or 4 
stanzas composed from the romance of " Morte 
Arthur." 

****** 

On Trinitye Mondaye in the morne, 
This sore battayle was doom'd to bef • 

Where manye a knighte cry'd, Well-away e ! 
Alacke, it was the more pittie. 

Ere the first crowinge of the cocke, 5 

When as the kinge in his bed laye, 

He thoughte Sir Gawaine to him came*, 
And there to him these wordes did saye. 

Nowe, as you are mine unkle deare, 

And as you prize your life, this daye 10 

O meet not with your foe in fighte ; 

Putt off the battayle, if yee maye. 

For Sir Launcelot is nowe in Fraunce, 
And with him many an hardye knighte : 

Who will within this moneth be backe, 15 

And will assiste yee in the fighte. 

The kinge then call'd his nobles all, 

Before the fereakinge of the daye ; 
And tolde them howe Sir Gawaine came, 

And there to him these wordes did saye. 20 



* Sir Gawaine had been killed at Arthur's landiug on his 
return from abroad. See the ntxt Ballad, ver. 73. 



His nobles all this counsayle gave, 

That earlye in the morning, hee 
Shold send awaye an heraukl at armes, 

To aske a parley faire and free. 

Then twelve good knightes King Arthure chose, 
The best of all that with him were : 26 

To parley with the foe in field, 

And make with him agreement faire. 

The king he charged all his hoste, 

In readinesse there for to bee : 30 

But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre, 

Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see. 

And Mordred on the other parte, 

Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe ; 
The beste of all his companye, 35 

To hold the parley with the kinge. 

Sir Mordred alsoe charged his hoste, 

In readinesse there for to bee ; 
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre, 

But if a sworde drawne they shold see. 40 

For he durste not his unkle truste, 

Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell : 
Alacke ! it was a woefulle case, 

As ere in Christentye befelle. 

But when they were together mette, 45 

And both to faire accordance broughte ; 

And a month's league betweene them sette, 
Before the battayle sholde be foughte ; 

An addere crept forth of a bushe, 

Stunge one o' th' king's knightes on the knee : 
Alacke! it was a woefulle chance, 51 

As ever was in Christentie. 

When the knighte found him wounded sore, 
And sawe the wild-worme hanginge there ; 

His sworde he from his scabberde drewe : 55 

A piteous case, as ye shall heare. 

For when the two hostes sawe the sworde, 

They joyned battayle instantlye ; 
Till of so manye noble knightes, 

On one side there were left but three. 60 



Ver. 41, 42, the folio reads father sonne. 



204 



KING ARTHUR'S DEATH. 



For all were slain that durst abide, 
And but some fewe that fled awave : 

Ay mee ! it was a bloodve fielde, 

As ere was foughte ou summer's daye. 

Upon King Arthur's own partye, 65 

Onlve himselfe escaped there, 
And Lukyn Uuke of Gloster free, 

And the king's butler Bedevere. 

And when the king beheld his knightes, 

All dead and scattered on the molde ; 70 

The teares fast trickled downe his face ; 
That manlye face in tight so bolde. 

Nowe reste yee all, brave knights, he said, 

Soe true and faithful to your trust : 
And must yee then, ye valiant hearts, 75 

Be lefte to moulder into dust ! 

Most loyal have yee been to mee, 
Most true and faithful unto deathe : 

And, oh ! to rayse yee up againe, 

How freely e could I yield my breathe ! 80 

But see the traitor's yet alive, 

Lo where bee stalkes among the deade ! 
Nowe bitterlye he shall abye : 

And vengeance fall upon bis head. 

O staye, my liege, then sayd the duke ; 85 

staye for love and charitie ; 
Remember what the vision spake, 

Nor meete your foe, if it may bee. 

O, staye mee not, thou worthy e wight, 

This debt my loyal knights I owe : 90 

Betide me life, betide me death, 

1 will avenge them of their foe. 

Then straite he grasp'd his trustye speare, 
And on his horse then mounted bee : 

As his butler holpe him to his horse, 95 

His bowels gushed to his knee. 

Alas ! then sayd' the noble king, 

That I should live this sight to see ! 

To see this good knight here be slaine, 

All for his love in helping mee ! 100 

He put his speare into his reste, 

And to Sir INJordred loud gan cryej 

Nowe sette thyself upon thy guarde, 
Tor, traitor, nowe thy death is nye. 

Sir .Monlred lifted up his sworde, 105 

And fierce to meet the king ran hee : 

'I lie kin<_,' his speare he through him thrust ; 
And fathom thorow his bodie. 

\\ hen Mordered felt the stroke of deal h, 

And found that he was wounded soe ; 1 10 

lie thruste himselfe upon the speare, 
And strucke the king a deadlye blowe. 

Then grimmlye dyed Sir Mordered, 

I'nsentlve upon that tree : 
And bloody streamcs ranne from the kingo 115 
Ere to the duke returned hee. 



Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake, 

Sir knyghte, thou hast beene faitbfulle tryde, 
Nowe take my sword Excalibar*. 

That hangs so freelye by my syde : 120 

O take my sword Excalibar, 

And there into the river throve : 
For here, henceforth, benethe this tree, 

All use of weapons I foregoe. 

And fare thee well, thou trustye sword, 125 

A better neer had valiant knighte, 
With thee full ofte, and manye a daye, 

Have I withstood my foe in fighte. 

With this good faucbion in my hande, 

Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde: 130 

But nowe the fatalle houre is come, 
That never more I may thee weelde. 

The duke to the river side he went, 

And there his owne sword in threwe he : 

But he kept back Excalibar, 135 

He kept it back in privitie. 

For all of coleyne was the blade ; 

And all the hilte of precious stone : 
And ever alacke ! then sayd the knighte, 

Must such a sword awaye be throwne 1 140 

Then backe he came unto the kinge, 

Who sayd, Sir Lukyn, what did yee see? 

Nothing, my liege, save that the winde 
Blewe oer the waters faire and free. 

O goe againe, then said the kinge, 145 

O good Sir Lukyn, goe againe : 
Into the rivere throwe my sword, 

Nor keepe me lingering here in paine. 

The duke then to the river went, 

And the kings scabbard in threwe hee ; 1 50 
But hee kept ba,cke Excalibar, 

And hid it undernethe a tree. 

Then backe he came to tell the kinge, 
Who sayde, Sir Lukyn, sawe ye oughte? 

Nothinge, my liege, save that the winde • 155 

Nowe with the angrye waters fought. 

O Lukyn, Lukyn, said the kinge, 
Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye : 

Alacke, whom may wee ever truste, 

When suche a knighte soe false can bee ? 160 

Saye, wouldst thou have thy master dead ; 

All for a sword, that wins thine eye: 
Nowe goe againe, and throwe it in, 

Or here the one of us shall dye. 

The duke, all shent with this rebuke, 165 

N o aunswere made unto the kinge : 

But to the rivere tooke the sworde, 
And threwe it far as he coulde flinge. 

A hande and arme did meete the sworde. 

And ilounshd three times in the air; 170 

Then sunke benethe the renninge streme, 
And of the duke was seen noe mair. 

• More commonly called Caliburn. In ihe folio M S. 
Etcalberd, 



THE LEGEND OF KING ARTHUR. 



205 



All sore astonied stood the duke ; 

He stood as still, as still mote bee : 
Then hastend backe to tell the kinge ; 

But he was gone from under the tree. 

But to what place he cold not tell, 
For never after hee did him spye : 



175 



But hee sawe a barge goe from the land, 
And hee heard ladyes howle and crye*. 

And whether the kinge were there, or not, 
Hee never knewe, nor ever colde : 

For from that sad and direfulle daye, 
Hee never more was seene on molde. 



180 



V. 



THE LEGEND OF KING ARTHUR. 



We have here a short summary of King Arthur's 
History as given by Jeff, of Monmouth and the old 
Chronicles, with the addition of a few circumstances 
from the romance Morte Arthur. — The ancient 
chronicle of Ger. de Leew ('quoted above in p. 203 ) 
seems to have been chiefly followed : upon the au- 
thority of which we have restored some of the names 
which were corrupted in the MS. and have trans- 
posed one stanza, which appeared to be misplaced, 
[viz. that beginning at v. 49, which in the MS. fol- 
lowed v. 36.] 
Printed from the Editor's ancient folio Manuscript. 

Of Brutus' blood, in Brittaine borne, 

King Arthur I am to name ; 
Through Christendome, and Heathynesse, 

Well knowne is my worthy fame. 

In Jesus Christ I doe beleeve ; 5 

I am a Christyan bore : 
The Father, Sone, and Holy Gost 

One God, I doe adore. 

In the four hundred ninetieth yeere, 

Over Brittaine I did rayne, 10 

After my savior Christ his byrth : 

What time I did maintaine. 

The fellowshipp of the table round, 

Soe famous in those dayes ; 
Whereatt a hundred noble knights, 15 

And thirty sat alwayes : 

Who for their deeds and martiall feates, 

As bookes done yett record, 
Amongst all other nations 

Wer feared throwgh the world. 20 

And in the castle off Tyntagill 

King Uther mee begate 
Of Agyana a bewtyous ladye, 

And come of ' hie' estate. 

And when I was fifteen yeere old, 25 

Then was I crowned kinge : 
All Brittaine that was att an uprdre 

I did to quiett bringe. 



Ver. 178, see MS. 
Ver. l,Bruite, MS. V. 9, He began his reign, A.D. 515, 
according to the Chonicles. V. 23, She is named Igerna in 
the old Chronicles. V. 24, his, MS. 



And drove the Saxons from the realine, 

Who had opprest this land ; 30 

All Scotland then throughe manly feats 
I conquered with my hand. 

Ireland, Denmarke, Norway, 

These countryes wan I all ; 
Iseland, Gotheland, and Swethland ; 35 

And made their kings my thrall. 

I conquered all Gallya, 

That now is called France ; 
And slew the hardye Froll in feild 

My honor to advance. . . 40 

And the ugly gyant Dynabus 

Soe terrible to vewe, 
That in Saint Barnards mount did lye, 

By force of armes I slew : 

And Lucyus the emperour of Rome 45 

I brought to deadly wracke ; 
And a thousand more of noble knightes 

For feare did turne their backe : 

Five kinges of" paynims" I did kill 

Amidst that bloody strife ; 50 

Besides the Grecian emperour 

Who alsoe lost his lifte. 

Whose carcasse I did send to Rome 

Cladd poorlye on a beere ; 
And afterward I past Mount- Joye 55 

The next approaching yeere. 

Then I came to Rome, where I was mett 

Right as a conquerour, 
And by all the cardinalls solempnelye 

I was crowned an emperour. 60 



Ver. 39, Froland field, MS. Froll, according to the 
Chronicles, was a Roman knight, governor of Gaul. V. 4, 
Danibus, MS. V. 49, of Pavye, MS. 

• Not unlike that passage in Virgil : 

Summoque ulularunt vertice nymphee. 

Ladies was the word our old English writers used for 
Nymphs : As in the following lines of an old song in the 
Editor's folio MS. 

" When scorching Phoebus he did mount, 
Then Lady Venus went to hunt: 

To whom Diana did resort, 
With all the Ladyes of hills, and valleys, 
Of springs, .and floodes, &c" 



t06 (JLASGERION. 


One winter there I made abode : 


And still I him pursued with speed 


Then word to mee was brought 


Till at the last wee mett : 


Howe Mordred had oppressd the crowne : 


Wherby an appointed day of fight 


What treason he had wrought 


Was there agreed aud sett. 


Att home in Brittaine with my queene ; 6.) 


Where we did fight, of mortal life 85 


Therfore I came with speede 


Kche other to deprive, 


To Brittaine backe, with all my power, 


Till of a hundred thousand men 


To quitt that traiterous deede : 


Scarce one was left alive. 


And soone at Sandwiche I arrivde, 


There all the noble chivalrye 


Where Mordred me withstoode : 70 


Of Brittaine tooke their end. 90 


But vett at last I landed there, 


see how fickle is their state 


With effusion of much blood. 


That doe on feates depend ! 


For there my nephew Sir Gawaine dyed, 


There all the traiterous men were slaine, 


Being wounded in that sore. 


Not one escapte away ; 


The whiche Sir Lancelot in fight 75 


And there dyed all my vallyant knightes 95 


Had given him before. 


Alas ! that woefull day ! 


Thence chased I Mordered away, 


Two and twenty yeere I ware the crowne 


Who fledd to London right, 


In honor and great fame ; 


From London to Winchester, and 


And thus by death was suddenlye 


To Cornewalle tooke his flyght. 80 


Deprived of the same. 100 ' 


VI. 
A DYTTIE TO HEY DOWNE. 


Copied from an old MS. in the Cotton Library, 


W 7 ho thinks to stryve against the streame, 


[ Vesp. A. 25.] in titled, " Divers things of Hen. viij's 


And for to sayle without a maste ; 


time." 


Unlessse he thinks perhapps to faine, 15 




His travell ys forelorne and waste ; 




And so in cure of all his paine, 


Who sekes to tame the blustering winde, 


His travell ys his cheffest gaine. 


Or causse the floods bend to his wyll, 
Or els against dame nature's kinde 


So he lykewise, that goes about 


To ' change' things frame by cunning skyll : 
That man I thinke bestoweth paine, 5 
Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine. 


To please eche eye and every care, 20 
Had nede to have withouten doubt 
A golden gyft with hym to beare ; 




For evyll report shall be his gaine, 




Though he bestowe both toyle and paine. 


Who strives to breake the sturdye Steele, 

Or goeth about to.staye the sunne ; 
Who thinks to causse an oke to reele, 




God grant eche man one to amend ; 25 


God send us all a happy place ; 


Which never can by force be done : 10 


• And let us pray unto the end, 


That man likewise bestoweth paine, 


That we may have our princes grace : 


Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine. 


Amen, amen ! so shall we gaine 


. 


A dewe reward for all our paine. 30 


V 


[I. 


GLASG 


EIUON. 


An ingenious Friend thinks that the followin- old 


Glasoebion was a kings owne sonne, 


Duty (which is printed from the Editor's folio MS.) 


And a harper he was goode : 


may possibly have riven birth to the Tragedy of the 


He harped in the kinges ehambere, 


11 Orphan," in hIik-Ii Polidore intercepts Monimia's 


Where cuppe and caudle stoode. 


intended favours to Castalio. 




See what is said concerning the hero of this song. 


And soe did bee in the queens chamber, h 


(who is celebrated by Chancer under the name of 
Glaekyrion) in the Essay prefixed to Series the First. 


Till ladies waxed ' glad.' 


And then bespake the kinges daughter; 


Note H. 


And these wordes thus shee sayd. 


Vcr. 4, causse, MS. 


Nti. 92, perhaps fates. V. 6, wood. MS. 



GLASGERION. 



Strike on, strike on, Glasgerion, 

Of thy striking doe not blinne : 10 

Theres never a stroke comes oer thy harpe, 

But it glads my hart withinne. 

Faire might he fall, ladye, quoth hee, 

Who taught you nowe to speake ! 
I have loved you, ladye, seven longe yeere 1.3 

My mmde I neere durst breake. 

But come to my bower, my Glasgerion, 

When all men are att rest : 
As I am a ladie true of my promise, 

Thou shalt bee a welcome guest. 20 

Home then came Glasgerion, 

A glad man, lord ! was hee. 
And, come thou hither, Jackemy boy j 

Come hither unto mee. 

For the kinges daughter of Normandye 25 

Hath granted mee my boone : 
And att her chambere must I bee 

Beffore the cocke have crowen. 

master, master, then quoth hee, 

Lay your head downe on this stone : 30 

For I will waken you, master deere, 
Afore it be time to gone. 

But up then rose that lither ladd, 

And hose and shoone did on : 
A coller he cast upon his necke, 35 

Hee seemed a gentleman. 

And when he came to the ladies chamber, 

He thrild upon a pinn*. 
The lady was true of her promise, 

Rose up and lett him in. 40 

He did not take the lady gaye 
To boulster nor to bed : 

1 Nor thoughe hee had his wicked willc, 

A single word he sed.' 

He did not kisse that ladyes mouthe, 45 

Nor when he came, nor youd : 
And sore mistrusted that ladye gay, 

He was of some churls bloud. 

But home then came that lither ladd, 

And did off his hose and shoone ; 50 

And cast the coller from off bis necke : 

He was but a churles sonne. 

Ver. 16, harte, MS. 
* This is elsewhere expressed ' twirled the pin' or * tirled 
■xt the pin' [See B. II. S. VI. v. 3.] aud seems to refer to the 
turning round the button on the outside of a door, by which 
the latch rises, still used in cottages. 



Awake, awake, my deere master, 

The cock hath well-nigh crowen. 
Awake, awake, my master deere, 55 

I hold it time to be gone. 

For I have saddled your horsse, master, 

Well bridled I have your steede : 
And I have served you a good breakfast • 

For thereof ye have need. 60 

Up then rose, good Glasgerion, 

And did on hose and shoone ; 
And cast a coller about his necke : 

For he was a kinge his sonne. 

And when he came to the ladyes chamber, 65 

He thrild upon the pinne : 
The ladye was more than true of promise. 

And rose and let him inn. 

Saies, whether have you left with me 

Your bracelett or your glove 1 70 

Or are you returned backe againe 

To know more of my love ] 

Glasgerion swore a full great othe, 

By oake, and ashe, and thorne , 
Lady, I was never in your chamber, ""5 

Sith the time that I was borne, 

O then it was your lither foot-page, 

He hath beguiled mee. 
Then shee pulled forth a little pen-kniffe, 

That hanged by her knee : ds 

Sayes, there shall never noe churles blood 

Within my bodye spring : 
No churles blood shall ever defile 

The daughter of a kinge. 

Home then went Galsgerion, 85 

And woe, good lord, was hee. 
Saves, come thou hither, Jacke my boy, 

Come hither unto mee. 

If I had killed a man to night, 

Jacke, I would tell it to thee : 90 

But if I have not killed a man to night, 

Jacke, thou hast killed three. 

And he puld out his bright browne sword, 

A dryed it on his sleeve, 
And he smote off that lither ladds head, 95 

Who did his ladye grieve. 

He sett the swords poynt till his brest, 

The pummil untill a stone : 
Throw the falsenesse of that lither laoV, 

These three lives werne all gone. ]00 

Ver. 76. Iitle, MS. 



*08 



OLD ROBIN OF PORTING ALE. 



VIII. 



OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE. 



From an ancient copy in the Editor's folio IMS. 
which was judged to require considerable cor- 
rections. 

In the former Edition the hero of this piece had 
been called Sir Robin, but that title not being in the 
MS. is now omitted. 

Let never again soe old a man 

Marrye soe yonge a wife, 
As did old Robin of Portingale ; 

Who may rue all the dayes of his life. 

For the mayors daughter of Lin, god wott, 5 

He chose her to his wife, 
And thought with her to have lived in love, 

But they fell to hate and strife. 

They scarce were in their wed-bed laid, 

And scarce was bee asleepe, 10 

But upp shee rose, and forth she goes, 
To the steward, and gan to weepe. 

Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles ? 

Or be you not within ? 
Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles, 15 

Arise and let me inn. 

O, I am waking, sweete, he said, 

Sweete ladye, what is your will? 
I have unbethought'me of a wile 

How my wed-lord weell spill. 20 

Twenty-four good knights, shee sayes, 

That dwell about this towne, 
Even twenty-four of my next cozens 

Will helpe to dinge him downe. 

All that beheard his litle footepage, 25 

As he watered his masters steed ; 
And for his masters sad penile 

His verry heart did bleed. 

He mourned still, and wept full sore ; 

I sweare by the holy roode 30 

The teares he for his master wept 

Were blent water and bloude. 

And that beheard his deare master 

As he stood at his garden pale : 
Saves, Ever alacke, my litle foot-page, 35 

What causes thee to wail I 



Hath any one done to thee wronge 
Any of thy fellowei here ? 

Or is ;mv of tliv good friends dead, 

That thou thedsl manye ■ teare '. 40 



Vcr. 10, nnbethonght, [properly onbethongbt] ihlt word ii 

'till ii-<(l in the Midland conntlesia toe Mine tenia u be 
thought, v. 32, blend, MS. 



Or, if it be mv head bookes-man, 

Aggrieved he shal bee : 
For no man here within mv bowse, 

Shall doe wrong unto thee. 

O, it is not your head bookes-man, 

Nor none of his degree : 
But, on to-morrow ere it be noone 

All deemed to die are yee. 

And of that bethank your head steward, 

And thank your gay ladie. 
If this be true, my litle foot-page, 

The heyre of my land thoust bee. 

If it be not true, my dear master, 

No good death let me die. 
If it be not true, thou litle foot-page, 

A dead corse shalt thou lib„ 

call now downe my faire ladye, 

O call her downe to mee : 
And tell my ladye gay how sicke, 

And bke to die I bee. 

Downe then came his ladye faire, 

All clad in purple and pall : 
The rings that were on her fingers, 

Cast light thorrow the hall. 

What is your will, my owne wed-lord ? 

What is your will with mee ? 
O see, my ladye deere, how sicke, 

And like to die I bee. 

And thou be sicke, my own wed-lord, 

Soe sore it grieveth me : 
But my five raaydens and myselfe 

Will ' watch thy' bedde for thee. 

And at the waking of your first sleepe, 

We will a hott drinke make: 
And at the waking of your ' next' sleepe, 

Your sorrowes we will slake. 

He put a silk cote on his backe, 

And mail of manye a fold : 
And bee putt a Steele cap on his head, 

Was gilt with good red gold. 

He layd a bright browne sword by his sido, 

And another att his feete : 
" And twentye good knights he placed at hand, 

To watch him in his sleepe." 

And about the middle time of the night, 
Came twentye-four traitours inn: 

Sir Giles he was the foremost man, 
The leader of that einn. 



45 



50 



55 



60 



65 



70 



7.) 



BO 



85 



V.r. 17, or tO-morrow, IMS. V. 56, bee, IMS. 
make the, MS. V. 75, first, MS. 



V. 



CHILD WATERS. 



Old Robin with his bright browne sword, 

Sir Gyles head soon did winn : 90 

And scant of all those twenty-four, 
Went out one quick agenn. 

None save only a litle foot-page, 

Crept forth at a window of stone : 
And he had two armes when he came in, 95 

And he went back with one. 

Upp then came that ladie gaye 

With torches burning bright : 
She thought to have brought Sir Gyles a drinke, 

Butt she found her owne wedd knight. 100 

The first thinge that she stumbled on 

It was Sir Gyles his foote : 
Sayes, Ever alacke, and v» oe is mee ! 

Here lyes my sweete hart-roote. 



The next thinge that she stumbled on 
It was Sir Gyles his heade : 

Sayes, Ever, alacke, and woe is me ! 
Heere lyes my true love deade. 



105 



Hee cutt the pappes beside her brest, 

And did her body spille ; 110 

He cutt the eares beside her heade, 
And bade her love her fille. 

He called then up his litle foot-page, 

And made him there his heyre ; 
And sayd, henceforth my worldlye goodes 115 

And countrye I forsweare. 

He shope the crosse on his right shoulder, 
Of the white ' clothe' and the redde *, 

And went into the holy land, 

Whereas Christ was quicke and dead. 120 



%* In the foregoing piece, Giles, steward to a 
rich old merchant trading to Portugal, is qualified 
with the title of Sir, not as being a knight, but rather. 
I conceive, as having received an inferior order of 
priesthood. 



IX. 



CHILD WATERS. 



Child is frequently used by our old writers, as a 
Title. It is repeatedly given to Prince Arthur in 
the " Faerie Queen :" and the son of a king is in the 
same poem called " Child Tristram." [B. 5. c. 11. 
st. 8. 13.— B. 6. c. 2. st. 36.— Ibid. c. 8. st. 15.] In 
an old ballad quoted in " Shakspeare's King Lear," 
the hero of Ariosto is called Child Roland. Mr. 
Theobald supposes this use of the word was received 
along with their romances from the Spaniards, with 
whom Infante signifies a " Prince." A more eminent 
3ritic tells us, that " in the old times of chivalry, the 
noble youth, who were candidates for knighthood, 
during the time of their probation were called In- 
l 'ans, Varlets, Damoysels, Bacheliers. The most noble 
of the youth were particularly called Infans." [Vid. 
Warb. Shakesp.'J A late commentator on Spenser 
observes, that the Saxon word cnihz knight, signifies 
also a " Child." [See Upton's Gloss, to the F. Q.] 

The Editor's folio MS. whence the following piece 
is taken (with some corrections), affords several 
other ballads, wherein the word Child occurs as a 
title : but in none of these it signifies " Prince." See 
the song intitled Gill Morrice, in this volume. 

It ought to be observed, that the word Child or 
Chield is still used in North Britain to denominate 
a Man, commonly with some contemptuous character 
affixed to him, but sometimes to denote Man in 
general, 

Chii.de Waters in his stable stoode 
And stroakt his milke white steede : 

To him a fayre yonge ladye came 
As ever ware womans weede. 

Sayes, Christ you save, good Childe Waters ; 5 

Sayes, Christ you save, and see : 
My girdle of gold that was too longe, 

Is now loo short for mee. 



And all is with one chyld of yours, 

I feele sturre att my side : 10 

My gowne of greene it is too straighte ; 

Before, it was too wide. 

If the child be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd, 

Be mine as you tell mee ; 
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, 15 

Take them your owne to bee. 

If the childe be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd, 

Be mine, as you doe sweare : 
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, 

And make that child your heyre. 26 

Shee saies, I had rather have one kisse, 

Child Waters, of thy mouth ; 
Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both, 

That lye by north and south. 

And I had rather have one twinkling, 25 

Childe Waters, of thine ee : 
Then I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both, 

To take them mine owne to bee. 

To morrow, Ellen, I must forth ryde 

Farr into the north countne , 30 

The fairest lady that I can find, 

Ellen, must goe with mee. 

' Thoughe I am not that lady fayre, 

Yet let me go with thee' : 
And ever I pray you, Child Waters, 35 

Your foot-page let me bee. 



Ver. 118, fleshe, MS. V. 13, be inne, MS. 
* Every person, who went on a Croisaue to the Holy 
Land, usually wore a cross on his upper garment, on the right 
shoulder, as a badge of his profession. Different nations 
were distinguished by crosses of different colours : The 
English wore white ; the French red ; &c. This circumstance 
seems to be confounded in the ballad. L V Spelman, Gloss.] 



210 CHILD WATERS. 


If you will my foot-page be, Ellen, 


There twenty four fay re ladies were 




fka you doe tell to mee ; 


A playinge at the chesse ; 




Then you must cut your gowne of greene, 


And Ellen the fayrest ladye there, 


95 


An inch above your knee ! 40 


Must bring his horse to gresse. 




Soe must you doe your vellowe lockes, 


And then bespake Childe Waters sister, 




An inch above your ee : 


These were the wordes said shee : 




You must tell no man what is my name ; 


You have the prettyest foot-page, brother, 




My foot-page then you shall bee. 


That ever I saw with mine ee. 


100 : 


Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode, 45 


But that his bellye it is soe bigg, 




Ran barefoote by his side ; 


His girdle goes wondrous hie : 




Yett was he never soe courteous a knighte, 


And let him, 1 pray you, Childe Waters, 




To say, Ellen, will you ryde ? 


Goe into the chamber with mee. 




Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode, 


It is not fit for a little foot-page, 


105 


Kan barefoote thorow the broome ; 50 


That has run throughe mosse and mvre, 




Yett hee was never soe curteoue, a knighte, 


To go into the chamber with any ladye, 




To say, put on your shoone. 


That weares soe riche attyre. 




Ride softlye, shee sayd, Childe Waters, 


It is more meete for a little foot-page, 




Why doe you ryde soe fast? 


That has run throughe mosse and myre, 


110 


The childe, which is no mans but thine, 55 


To take his supper upon his knee, 




My bodye itt will brast. 


And sitt downs by the kitchen fyer. 




Hee sayth, seest thou yonder water, Ellen, 
That flows from banke to brimme. — 

I trust to God, Child Waters, 

You never will see* mee swimme. 60 


But when they had supped every one, 
To bedd they tooke theyr waye : 

He sayd, come hither, my little foot-page, 
And hearken what I saye. 


115 


But when shee came to the waters side, 






Shee sayled to the chinne : 
Except the Lord of heaven be my speed, 

Now must I learne to swimme. C5 


Goe thee dovvne into yonder towne, 

And low into the street ; 
The fayrest ladye that thou can mule, 






Hyer her in mine amies to sleepe, 


120 


The salt waters bare up her clothes ; 


And take her up in thine armes twaine. 




Our Ladye bare upp her chinne : 


For lilinge* of her feete. 




Childe Waters was a woe man, good Lord, 






To see faire Ellen swimme. 


Ellen is gone into the towne, 
And low into the streete : 




And when shee over the water was, 


The fairest ladye that shee cold find, 


125 


Shee then came to his knee : 70 


Shee hyred in his armes to sleepe ; 




He said, Come hither, thou faire Ellen, 


And tooke her up in her armes twayne, 




Loe yonder what I see. 


For filing of her feete. 




Scest thou not yonder hall, Ellen? 


I pray you nowe, good Childe Waters, 




Of redd gold shines the yate : 


Let mee lye at your bedds feete : 




Of twenty foure faire ladyes there, 75 


For there is noe place about this house, 


130 


The fairest is my mate. 


Where I may 'sayef a sleepe. 




Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen ? 


' He gave her leave, and faire Ellen 




Of redd gold shines the towre : 


'Down at his beds feet lay :' 




There are twenty four faire ladyes there, 


This done the nighte drove on apace, 


135 


The fairest is my paramoure. 80 


And when it was neare the daye, 




I see the hall now, Child Waters, 


Hee sayd, Rise up, my litle foot-page, 




Of redd gold shines the yate : 


Give my steede corne and haye; 




God give you good now of yourselfe, 


And soe doe thou the good black oats, 




And of your worthy e mate. 


To carry mee better awaye. 


140 


I see the hall now, Child Waters, 85 


Up then rose the faire Ellen, 




Of redd golde shines the towre : 


And gave his steede corne and hay ; 




God give you good now of yourselfe, 


And soe shee did the good blacke oates, 




And of your panunoure. 


To carry him the better away. 




There twenty four byre ladyes were 


Shee leaned her backe to the manger side, 


115 


A pb\ing'aM the hall : 90 


And grievouslye did groane: 




And Kllen the fairest ladye there, 


She leaned her back to the manger side, 




Must bring his steed to the stall. 


And there shee made her moane. 




Ver. hi, woldlye, MS. 


• i. c. defiling. See Walton's Observ. vol. 11. p. 


156. 


• i. e. penult, ioff< i , See. 


+ i. e. eBBay, attempt. 





PHILLIDA AND CORYDON. 



2il 



And that beheard his mother deere, 

Shee heard her there monand*. 150 

Shee sayd, Rise up, thou Childe Waters, 

I think thee a cursed man. 

For in thy stable is a ghost, 

That grievouslye doth grone : 
Or else some woman labours of childe 1 55 

Shee is soe woe-begone, 

Up then rose Childe Waters soon, 

And did on his sbirte of silke ; 
And then he put on his other clothes, 

On his body as white as milke. 160 



And when he came to the stable dore, 

Full still there he did stand, 
That hee mighte heare his fayre Ellen, 

Howe shee made her monand. 

She sayd, Lullabye, mine owne deere child, 

Lullabye, dere child, dere ; 
I wold thy father were a king, 

Thy mother layd on a biere. 

Peace now, hee said, good faire Ellen, 

Be of good cheere, I praye ; 
And the bridal aud the churching both 

Shall bee upon one day. 



165 



170 



X. 



PHILLIDA AND CORYDON, 



This Sonnet is given from a small quarto IMS. in 
the Editor's possession, written in the time of Queen 
Elizabeth. Another Copy of it, containing some 
variations, is reprinted in the Muses Library, p. 295, 
from an ancient miscellany, intitled England's Heli- 
con, 1600, 4to. The author was Nicholas Breton, a 
writer of some fame in the reign of Elizabeth ; who 
also published an interlude intitled " An old man's 
lesson and a young man's love," 4to. and many 
other little pieces in prose and verse, the titles of 
which may be seen in Winstanley, Ames' Typog, and 
Osborne's Had. Catalog. &c. — He is mentioned with 
tvreat respect by Meres, in his second part of "Wit's 
Commonwealth," 1598, f. 283, and is alluded to in 
Beaumont and Fletcher's "Scornful Lady," Act 2. 
and again in "Wit without Money," Act 3. — See 
Whalley's Ben Jonson, vol. III. p. 103. 

The present Edition is improved by a copy in 
" England's Helicon," vol. Ill, edit. 1614, 8vo. 

In the merrie moneth of Maye, 
In a morne by break of daye, 
With a troope of damselles playing 
Forthe ' 1 yode'* forsooth a maying : 

When anon by a wood side, 5 

Where as Maye was in his pride, 
I espied all alone 
Phillida and Corydon. 

Much adoe there was, god wot ; 

He wold love, and she wold not. 10 

She sayde, never man was trewe ; 

He sayes, none was false to you. 

He sayde, hee had lovde her longe : 
She sayes, love should have no wronge. 
Corydon wold kisse her then : 15 

She sayes, maydes must kisse no men, 

Tyll they doe for good and all. 

When she made the shepperde call 

All the heavens to wytnes truthe, 

Never loved a truer youthe. 20 



Ver. 4, the wode, MS. 
* Sic in MS. i. e. moaning;, bemoaning, &c. 



Then with manie a prettie othe, 
Yea and nay, and faith and trothe ; 
Suche as seelie shepperdes use 
When they will not love abuse ; 

Love, that had bene long deluded, 25 

Was with kisses sweete concluded ; 
And Phillida with garlands gaye 
Was made the lady of the Maye. 

t+ 1 The foregoing little pastoral of "Phillida and 
Corydon" is one of the songs in " The Honourable 
Entertainment gieven to the Queenes Majestie in 
Progresse at Elvetham in Hampshire, by the R. H. 
the Earle of Hertford, 1591," 4to. [Printed by 
Wolfe. No name of author.] See in that pamphlet, 

" The thirde daies Etertainment. 

" On Wednesday morning about 9 o'clock, as her 
Majestie opened a casement of her gallerie window, 
ther were 3 excellent musitians, who being disguised 
in auncient country attire, did greete her with a plea- 
sant song of ' Corydon and Phillida,' made in 3 parts 
of purpose. The song, as well for the worth of the 
dittie, as the aptnesse of the note thereto applied, it 
pleased her Highnesse after it had been once sung to 
command it againe, and highly to grace it with hf r 
cheerefull acceptance and commendation. 

" The Plowman's Song. 

" In tlie merrie month of May, $fc." 

The splendour and magnificence of Elizabeth's 
reign is no where more strongly painted than in these 
little diaries of some of her summer excursions to the 
houses of her nobility ; nor could a more acceptable 
present be given to the world, than a republication 
of a select number of such details as this of the en- 
tertainment at Elvetham, that at Killingworth, &c, 
&c, which so strongly mark the spirit of the times, 
and present us with scenes so very remote from mo- 
dern manners. 

%* Since the above was written, the Public hath 
been gratified with a most complete work on the 
foregoing subject, intitled, " The Progresses and 
Public Processions of Queen Elizabeth, &c. By 
John Nichols, F. A. S. Edinb. and Perth, 1788," 2 
vols, 4to. 

2 p 



212 



LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD. 



XI. 



LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD. 



This ballad is ancient, and has been popular ; we 
find it quoted in many old plays. See Beaurn. and 
Fletcher's Knight of the Burning Pestle, 4to, 1613, 
Act 5. The Yarietie.a comedy, l2mo. 16-49, Act 4, 
<\c. In Sir William Davenant's play, " The YVitts," 
Act 3, a gallant thus boasts of himself : 

" Limber and sound ! besides I sing Musgrave, 
And for Chevy-chace no lark comes near me." 

In the Pepys Collection, vol. III. p. 314, is an 
imitation of this old song, in 33 stanzas, by a more 
modern pen, with many alterations, but evidently 
for the worse. 

This is given from an old printed copy in the 
British Museum, with corrections ; some of which 
are from a fragment in the Editor's folio MS. It is 
also printed in Dryden's Collection of Miscellaneous 
Poems. 

As it fell out on a highe holye daye, 

As many bee in the yeare, 
YVben yong men and maides together do goe, 

Their masses and mattins to heare, 

Little Musgrave came to the church door, 5 

The priest was at the mass ; 
But he had more mind of the fine women, 

Then he had of our Ladyes grace. 

And some of them were clad in greene, 

And others were clad in pall ; 10 

And then came in my Lord Barnardes wife, 
The fairest among them all. 

Shee cast an eye on little Musgrave 
As bright as the summer sunne : 

then bethought him little Musgrave, 15 
This ladyes heart I have wonne. 

Quolh she, I have loved thee, little Musgrave, 

Tulle long and manye a daye. 
So have I loved you, ladye faire, 

Yet word I never durst saye. 20 

1 have a bower at Bucklesford-Bury*, 

Full daintilye bedight, 
If thoult wend thither, my little Musgrave, 
Thoust li^ in mine amies all night. 



Quoth bee, I thanke yee, ladye faire, 
I bis kindness yee shew to mee j 

And whether it be to my weale or woe 
This night will 1 tig with thee. 

All this beheard a title foot-] 

By Ins ladyes ooacb aa be ranee : 

Quoth be, thoughe I am my ladyes pa| 
Y<t [me my Ford Barnardes manne, 



25 



30 



• Bucklrfeld-bmrrp, fol. MS. 



My Lord Barnard shall knowe of this, 

Although I lose a limbe. 
And ever whereas the bridges were broke, 35 

He layd him downe to swiinme. 

Asleep or awake, thou Lord Barnard, 

As thou art a man of life, 
Lo ! this same night at Bucklesford-Bury 

Li tie Musgrave's in bed with thy wife. 40 

If it be trew, thou litle foote-page, 

This tale thou hast told to mee, 
Then all my lands in Bucklesford-Bury 

I freelye will give to thee. 

But and it be a lve, thou litle foot-pag?, 40 

This tale thou hast told to mee, 
On the highest tree in Bucklesford-Bury 

All hanged shalt thou bee. 

Rise up, rise up, my merry men all, 

And saddle me my good steede; 50 

This night must I to Bucklesford-Bury ; 

God wott, I had never more neede. 

Then some they whistled, and some they sang, 

And some did loudlye saye, 
Whenever Lord Barnardes home it blewe, 55 

Awaye, Musgrave, away. 



Methinkes I heare the throstle cocke, 

Methinkes I heare the jay, 
Methinkes I heare Lord Barnards home 

I would I were awaye. 



60 



65 



Lye still, lye still, thou little Musgrave, 
And huggle me from the cold ; 

For it is but some shephardes boye 
A whistling his sheepe to the fold. 

Is not thy hawke upon the pearche, 
Thy horse eating corne and haye ? 

And thou a gay lady within thine amies : 
And wouldst thou be awaye 1 



By this Lord Barnard was come to the dore, 
And lighted upon a stone : 70 

And he pulled out three silver keyes, 
And opened the dores eche one. 

He lifted up the coverlctt, 

He lifted up the sheete ; 
How now, how now, thou little Musgrave, 75 

Dost find my gave ladye sweete ? 

1 find her sweete, quoth little Musgrave, 

llic more is my griefe and paine ; 
[de gladlye give three hundred poundes 

That I were on yonder plaine. 80 

Ver. 04, I- whiBtUug sheepe ore Ihe mold, foL MS. 



THE EW-BUGHTS MARION. 



213 



Arise, arise, thou little Musgrave, 

And put thy cloathes nowe on, 
It shall never be said in my countree, 

That I killed a naked man. 

I have two swordes in one scabbarde, 85 

Full deare they cost my purse ; 
And thou shalt have the best of them, 

And I will have the worse. 

Tbe first stroke that little Musgrave strucke, 
He hurt Lord Barnard sore ; 90 

The next stroke that Lord Barnard strucke, 
Little Musgrave never strucke more. 

With that bespake the ladye faire, 

In bed whereas she lave, 
Althoughe thou art dead, my little Musgrave, 95 

Yet for the I will praye : 

And wishe well to thy soule will I, 

So long as I have life ; 
So will I not do for thee, Barnard, 

Thoughe I am thy wedded wife. 100 

He cut her pappes from off her brest ; 

Great pitye it was to see 
The drops of this fair ladyes bloode 

Run trickling; downe her knee. 



Wo worth, wo worth ye, my merrye men all, 105 
You never were borne for my goode : 

Why did you not offer to stay my hande, 
When you sawe me wax so woode 1 



For I have slaine the fairest sir knighte, 

That ever rode on a steede ; 110 

So have I done the fairest lady, 
That ever ware womans weede. 



A grave, a grave, Lord Barnard cryde, 

To putt these lovers in ; 
But lay my ladye o' the upper hande, 15 

For shee comes o' the better kin. 



t+t That the more modern copy is to be dated 
about the middle of the last century, will be readily 
conceived from the tenor of the concluding stanza, 



" This sad Mischief by Lust was wrought; 

Then let us call for Grace 
That we may shun the wicked vice, 

And fly from Sin a-pace." 



XII. 
THE EW-BUGHTS MARION. 



A SCOTTISH SONG. 



This sonnet appears to be ancient : that and its 
simplicity of sentiment have recommended it to a 
place here. 

Will ze gae to the ew-bughts, Marion, 

And wear in the sheip wi' mee ? 
The sun shines sweit, my Marion, 

But nae half sae sweit as thee. 
O Marion's a bonnie lass ; 5 

And the blyth blinks in her ee : 
And fain wad I marrie Marion, 

Gin Marion wad marrie mee. 

Theire's gowd in zour garters, Marion ; 

And siller on zour white hauss-bane*: 10 

Fou faine wad I kisse my Marion 

At eene quhan I cum hame. 



* Hauss-bane, i. e. The neck-bone. Marion had prooably 
silver locket on, tied close to her neck with a ribband, an 

usual ornament in Scotland ; where a sore throat is called 

" a sair Jiause," property halse. 



Theire's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion, 
Quha gape and glowr wi' their ee 

At kirk, quhan they see my Marion j 
Bot nane of them lues like mee. 

Ive nine milk-ews, my Marion, 

A cow and a brawney quay ; 
Ise gie tham au to my Marion, 

Just on her bridal day. 
And zees get a grein sey apron, 

And waistcote o' Loudon broun ; 
And wow bot ze will be vaporing 

Quhaneir ze gang to the toun. 

Ime yong and stout, my Marion, 

None dance lik mee on the greine ; 
And gin ze forsak me, Marion, 

Ise een gae draw up wi' Jeane. 
Sae put on zour pearlins, Marion, 

And kirtle oth' cramasie, 
And sune as my chin has nae haire on, 

I sail cum west, and see zee. 



s;) 



-'iv THE KNIGHTS AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER. 


XIII. 


THE KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERDS DAUGHTER. 


This ballad (given from an old black-letter Copy, 


He hath not robbed mee, my leige, 4o 


With some corrections) was popular in the time of 


Of purple nor of pall : 


Queen Elizabeth, being usually printed with her 


But he hath gotten my maiden head, 


picture before it, as Hearne informs us in his preface 


Which grieves mee worst of all. 


to " Gul. Neubrig, Hist, Oxon, 1719, 8vo, vol.1, 




p. lxx." It is quoted in Fletcher's comedy of the 


Now if he be a batchelor, 


Pilgrim, Act 4, sc. 1. 


His bodye He give to thee ; 50 


There was a shepherds daughter 
Came tripping on the waye ; 


But if he be a married man, 
High hanged he shall bee. 


And there by chance a knighte shee mett, 




Which caused her to staye. 


He called downe his merrye men all, 


By one, bv two, bv three ; 


Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide, 5 


Sir William used to bee the first. 6 ■> 


These words pronounced hee : 


But nowe the last came hee. 


I shall dye this daye, he sayd, 




If Ive not my wille of thee. 


He brought her downe full fortye pounde, 




Tyed up withinne a glove : 


The Lord forbid, the maide reply de, 


Faire maide, He give the same to thee ; 


That you shold waxe so wode ! 10 


Go, seeke thee another love. 60 


1 But for all that shee could do or saye, 




He wold not be withstood.' 


O lie have none of your gold, she sayde, 


Sith you have had your wille of mee, 

And put me to open shame, 
Now, if you are a courteous knighte, 1 5 


Nor He hare none of your fee ; 
But vour faire bodye I must have, 
The king hath granted mee. 


Tell me what is your name 1 




Sir William ranne and fetchd her then 6o 


Some do call mee Jacke, sweet heart, 


Five hundred pound in golde, 


And some do call mee Jille ; 


Saying, faire maide, take this to thee, 


But when I come to the kings faire courte 


Thy fault will never be tolde. 


They call me Wilfulle Wille. 20 






Tis not the gold that shall mee tempt, 


He sett his foot into the stirrup, 


These words then answered shee, 70 


And awaye then he did ride ; 


But your own bodye I must have, 


She tuckt her girdle about her middle, 


The king hath granted mee. 


And ranne close by his side. 






Would I had dranke the water cleare, 


But when she came to the brode water, 25 


When I did drinke the wine, 


She sett her brest and swamme ; 


Rather than any shepherds brat 75 


And when she was got out againe, 


Shold bee a ladve of mine ! 


She tooke to her heels and ranne. 




He never was the courteous knighte, 


Would I had drank the puddle foule, 


To saye, faire maide, will ye ride ? 30 


When I did drink the ale, 


And she was ever too loving a maide 


Rather than ever a shepherds brat 


To saye, sir knighte abide. 


Shold tell me such a tale ! 8o 


When she came to the kings faire courle, 


A shepherds brat even as I was, 


She knocked at the ring ; 


You mote have let me bee, 


Si. readye was the king himself 35 


I never had come othe kings faire courte, 


To lei this lane maide in. 


To crave any love of thee. 


Now Christ you save, my gracious liege, 


He sett her on a milk-white steede, 85 


Now Chrial jron aave and see. 


And himself upon a graye ; 


Yihi Lave a knighte w itlnn your courte 


lie hung a bogle about his uecke, 


'J lus daye hath robbed meet 10 


And soe they rode awaye. 


What hath he rohhed thee of, sweet heart 1 

( )t purple or of pal] 1 






Or hath he took thy gaye u<>lil ring 


\ . r, S0| Hi- bodye lie uive to thee.] This was agreeable 
i<. the feudal customs: The lord had .-i ri^ht to give a wife 


From off thy finger small | 


(■> hi> vassals. See Shakspeare'a " All's well, that ends well." 



LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELINOR. 


210 


But when they came unto the place, 


Ah ! cursed bee the gold, he sayd, 


Where marriage-rites were done, 90 


If thou hadst not been trewe, 




She proved herself a dukes daughter, 


I shold have forsaken my sweet love, 




And he but a squires Sonne. 


And have changed her for a newe. 


100 


Now marrye me, or not, sir knight, 


And now their hearts being linked fast, 




Your pleasure shall be free : 


They joyned hand in hande : 




If you make me ladye of one good towne, 95 


Thus he had both purse, and person too, 




lie make you lord of three. 


And all at his commande. 




XIV. 




THE SHEPHERDS ADDRESS TO HIS MUSE. 




This Poem, originally printed from the small MS 


Swete Philomele, the birde 




volume mentioned above in No. X. has been im- 


That hath the heavenly throte, 




proved by a more perfect copy in " England's 


Doth nowe, alas ! not once afforde 




Helicon," where the author is discovered to be N. 
Breton. 


Recordinge of a note. 




Good Muse, rocke me aslepe 
With some sweete harmony : 

This wearie eyes is not to kepe 
Thy wary company. 


The flowers have had a frost, 

The herbs have loste their savoure ; 
And Phillida the faire hath lost 


25 


' For me her wonted' favour. 




Sweete Love, begon a while, 5 






Thou seest my heavines : 
Beautie is borne but to beguyle 
My harte of happines. 


Thus all these careful sights 




So kill me in conceit: 
That now to hope upon delights, 


SO 


See howe my little flocke, 


It is but meere deceite. 




That lovde to feede on highe, 10 






Doe headlonge tumble downe the rocke, 






And in the valley dye. 


And therefore, my sweete muse, 




That knowest what helpe is best, 




The bushes and the trees, 


Doe nowe thy heavenlie conninge use 


35 


That were so freshe and greene, 


To sett my harte at rest : 




Doe all their deintie colors leese, 15 






And not a leafe is seene. 


And in a dreame bewraie 




The blacke birde and the thrushe, 


What fate shal be my frende ; 




That made the woodes to ringe, 


Whether my life shall still decaye, 




With all the rest, are now at hushe, 


Or when my sorrowes ende. 


40 


And not a note they singe. 20 






X 


V. 




LORD THOMAS A] 


ND FAIR ELINOR, 




is given (with corrections) from an ancient 


Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, he sayd, 


5 


, copy in black letter, in the Pepys collection, intitled, 


And riddle us both as one ; 




" A tragical ballad on the unfortunate love of Lord 


Whether I shall marrye with faire Ellinor, 




Thomas and fair Ellinor, together with the downfall 


And let the browne girl alone ] 




of the browne girl." — In the same collection may be 
seen an attempt to modernize this old song, and 
reduce it to a different measure : a proof of its 
popularity. 


The browne girl she has got houses and lands 

Faire Ellinor she has got none, 
And therefore I charge thee on my blessing, 


'lO 


To bring me the browne girl home. 




Lord Thomas he was a bold forrrester, 


And as it befelle on a high holidaye, 




And a chaser of the kings deere ; 


As many there are beside, 




Faire Ellinor was a fine woman, 


Lord Thomas he went to faire Ellinor, 


15 


And Lord Thomas he loved his deare. 


That should have been her bride. 








CUPID AND CAMPASPE, 



And when he came to faire Ellinors bower, 
1 le knocked there at the rin^, 

And who was so reach as fain- KUinor, 
To lett Lord Thomas withinn. 



80 



Whatnewes, what newes.Lord Thomas, she sayd? 

\\ bat newes dost thou bring to mee ? 
1 am come to bid thee to my wedding, 

And that is bad news for thee. 

God forbid, Lord Thomas she sayd, 25 
That such a thing should be done ; 

1 thought to have been the bride my selfe, 

And thou to have been the bridegrome. 

Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, she sayd, 
And riddle it all in one ; 30 

Whether 1 shall goe to Lord Thomas his wedding, 
Or whether shall tarry at home? 

There are manye that are your friendes, daughter, 

And manye a one your foe, 
Therefore I charge you on my blessing, 35 

To Lord Thomas his wedding don't goe. 

There are manye that are my friendes, mother ; 

But were every one my foe, 
Betide me life, betide me death, 

To Lord Thomas his wedding I'ld goe. 40 

She cloathed herself in gallant attire, 
And her merrye men all in greene ; 

And as they rid through every towne, 
They took her to be some queene. 

But when she came to Lord Thomas his gate, 45 

She knocked there at the ring ; 
And who was so readye as Lord Thomas, 

1*0 lett faire Ellinor in. 



Is tms your bride, fair Ellinor sayd ? 

Methinks she looks wonderous browne ; 50 
Thou mightest have had as faire a woman, 

As ever trod on the grounde. 

Despise her not, fair Ellin, he sayd, 

Despise her not unto mee ; 
For better I love thy little finger, 55 

Than all her whole bodee. 

This browne bride had a little penknife, 

That was both long and sliarpe, 
And betwixt the short ribs and the long, 

She prick'd faire Ellinor's harte. CO 

O Christ thee save, Lord Thomas, hee sayd, 
Methinks thou lookst wondrous wan ; 

Thou usedst to look with as fresh a colour, 
As ever the sun shone on. 

Oh, art thou blind, Lord Thomas ? she sayd, 65 

Or canst thou not very well see ? 
Oh ! dost thou not see my owne hearts bloode 

Run trickling down my knee. 

Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side ; 

As he walked about the halle, 70 

He cut off his brides head from her shoulders,, 

And threw it against the walle. 

He set the hilte against the grounde, 

And the point aginst his harte. 
There never three lovers together did meete, 75 

That sooner againe did parte. 

%* The reader will find a Scottish song on a 
sim lar subject to this, towards the end of this 
volume, intitled, " Lord Thomas and Lady Anuet." 



XVI. 
CUPID AND CAMPASPE. 



This elegant little sonnet is found in the third act 
of an old play, intitled, " Alexander and Campaspe," 
written by John Lilye, a celebrated writer in the 
time of Queen Elizabeth. That play was first 
printed in 1591 : but this copy is given from a later 
edition. 

Cupid and my Campaspe playd 
At cardes for kisses ; Cupid payd : 



Wr. 2!». It should probably be Iteadc me, read, &c. i. 
Advise me, advise. 



He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, 

His mothers doves, and teame of sparrows ; 

Loses them too ; then down he throws 

The coral of his lippe, the rose 

(J rowing on's cheek (but none knows how), 

With these, the crystal of his browe, 

And then the dimple of his chinne ; 

All these did my Campaspe winne. 

At last he set her both his eyes, 

She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 

O Love ! has she done this to thee? 

What shall, alas ! become of mee? 



THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN. 


21? 


XVII. 




THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN. 




is given from a written copy, containing some 

improvements (perhaps modern ones), upon the 
popular ballad, intitled, " The famous flower of 
Serving-men j or the Lady turned Serving-man," 


Wilt thou be usher of my hall, 
To wait upon my nobles all ? 
Or wilt be taster of my wine, 
To 'tend on me when I shall dine t 


r>o 


You beauteous ladyes, great and small, 
I write unto you one and all, 
Whereby that you may understand 
What I have suffered in the land. 


Or wilt thou be my chamberlaine, 
About my person to remaine ? 
Or wilt thou be one of my guard, 
And I will give thee great reward 1 


55 


I was by birth a lady faire, 5 

An ancient barons only heire, 

And when my good old father dyed, 

Then I became a young knightes bride. 


Chuse, gentle youth, said he, thy place. 
Then I reply'd, If it please your grace 
To shew such favour unto mee, 
Your chamberlaine I faine would bee. 


60 


And there my love built me a bower, 
Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower ; 10 
A braver bower you ne'er did see 
Then my true love did build for mee. 


The king then smiling gave consent, 
And straitwaye to his court I went ; 
Where I behavde so faithfullie, 
That hee great favour showd to mee. 




And there I livde a ladye gay, 

Till fortune wrought our loves decay ; 

For there came foes so fierce a band, 1 5 

That soon they over-run the land. 


Now marke what fortune did provide ; 
The king he would a hunting ride 
With all his lords and noble traine, 
Sweet William must at home remaine. 


65 


They came upon us in the night, 1 

And brent my bower, and slew my knight ; 

And trembling hid in mans array 

I scant with life escap'd away. 20 


Thus being left alone behind, 
My former state came in my mind : 
I wept to see my mans array j 
No longer now a ladye gay. 


70 


In the midst of this extremitie, 
My servants all did from me flee : 
Thus was I left myself alone, 
With heart more cold than any stone. 


And meeting with a ladyes vest, 
Within the same myself I drest ; 
With silken robes and jewels rare, 
I deckt me, as a ladye faire : 


75 


Yet though my heart was full of care, 25 
Heaven would not suffer me to dispaire, 
Wherefore in haste I chang'd my name 
From fair Elise, to sweet Williame : 


And taking up a lute straitwaye, 
Upon the same I strove to play ; 
And sweetly to the same did sing, 
As made both hall and chamber ring. 


80 


And therewithall I cut my haire, 

Resolv'd my man's attire to weare ; 30 

And in my beaver, hose and band, 

I travell'd far through many a land. 


" My father was as brave a lord, 
As ever Europe might afford ; 
My mother was a lady bright : 
My husband was a valiant knight : 




At length all wearied with my toil, 

I sate me down to rest awhile ; 

My heart it was so fill'd with woe, 35 

That downe my cheeke the teares did flow. 


" And I myself a ladye gay 
Bedeckt with gorgeous rich array ; 
The happiest lady in the land 
Had not more pleasure at command. 


85 


It chanc'd the king of that same place 

With all his lords a hunting was, 

And seeing me weepe, upon the same 

Askt who I was, and whence I came. 40 


" I had my musicke every day 
Harmonious lessons for to play ; 
I had my virgins fair and free 
Continually to wait on mee. 


90 


Then to his grace I did replye, 
I am a poore and friendlesse boye, 
Though nobly borne, nowe forc'd to bee 
A serving-man of lowe degree. 


" But now, alas ! my husband's dead, 
And all my friends are from me fled, 
My former days are past and gone, 
And I am now a serving-man." 


95 


Stand up, faire youth, the king reply'd, 45 
For thee a service I'll provyde ; 
But tell me first what thou canst do ; 
Thou shalt be fitted thereunto. 


And fetching many a tender sigh, 
As thinking no one then was nigh, 
In pensive mood I laid me lowe, 
My heart was full, the tears did flowe. 


too 



210 



GIL MOHRICE. 



The long, who had a huntings gone, 
Grewe weary of his sport anone, 
Ami leaving all his gallant tram.', 
Turu'd on the sudden home againe : 

And when he rcach'd his'statelye tower, 105 
Hearing one sing within his hower, 
He stopt to listen, and to see 
Who sung there so melcdiouslie. 

Thus heard he everye word I sed, 

And saw the pearlye teares I shed, HO 

And found to his amazement there, 

Sweete William was a ladye faire. 

Then stepping in, Faire ladye rise, 

And dry, said he, those lovelye eyes, 

For I have heard thy mournful tale, 115 

The which shall turn to thy availe. 

A crimson dye my face orespred, 

1 blusht for shame, and hung my head, 



To find my sex and story knowne, 

When as I thought I was alone. 120 

But to be briefe, his royall grace 
Grewe so enamour'd of my face, 
The richest gifts he proffered mee, 
His mistress if that I would bee. 

All ! no, my biege, I firmlye sayd, 125 

I'll rather in my grave be layd, 
And though your grace hath won niy heart, 
I ne'er will act soe base a part. 

Faire ladye, pardon me, sayd bee, 

Thy virtue shall rewarded bee, 130 

And since it is soe fairly tryde 

Thou shalt become my royal bride. 

Then strait to end his amorous strife, 

He tooke sweet William to his wife. 

The like before was never seene, 135 

A serving-man became a queene. 



XV1I1. 



GIL M OR It ICE. 



A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 



The following piece hath run through two editions 
in Scotland : the second was printed at Glasgow in 
1755, 8vo. Prefixed to them both is an advertise- 
ment, setting forth that the preservation of this 
poem was owing " to a lady, who favoured the 
printers with a copy, as it was carefully collected 
from the mouths of old women and nurses ;" and 
" any reader that can render it more correct or com- 
plete," is desired to oblige the public with such im- 
provements. In consequence of this advertisement, 
sixteen additional verses have been produced and 
handed about in manuscript, which are here in- 
serted in their proper places : (these are from verse 
109 to verse 121, and from verse 124 to verse 129, 
but are perhaps, after all, only an ingenious interpo- 
lation.) 

As this poem lays claim to a pretty high antiquity, 
we have assigned it a place among our early pieces : 
though, after all, there is reason to believe it has 
received very considerable modern improvements : 
for in the Editor's ancient MS collection is a very 
old imperfect copy of the same ballad : wherein 
though the leading features of the story are the 
same, yel the colouring here is so much improved 
ami heightened, .and bo many additional strokes are 
thrown in, that it is evident the whole has under- 
gone a rei i al. 

N. 15. The Editor's IMS. instead of "Lord I'ar- 

nard," has "John Stewart;" and instead of" (id 
Morrice," " Child Maurice," winch la^t is probably 
the original title, Sec above, p. ~ ; 09. 

(in. Monice was an erles son, 
His name it. waxed wide ; 

It was nae fox his great ncbes, 

\ or /.et bis mickle pride ; 
Bol ii w as for a lady gay, 5 

'J hat livd on L'arron side. 



Quhair sail I get a bonny boy, 

That will win hose and shoen ; 
That will gae to Lord Barnards ha', 

And bid his lady* cum ? 1C 

And ze maun rin my errand, W r illie ; 

And ze may rin wi' pride ; 
Quhen other boys gae on their foot, 

On horse-back ze sail ride. 

no ! Oh no ! my master dear ! 15 

1 dare nae for my life ; 
I'll no gae to the bauld barons, 

For to triest furth his wife. 
j\ly bird Willie, my boy Willie ; 

My dear Willie, he sayd : 20 

How can ze strive against the stream 1 

For I sail be obeyd. 

Bot, O my master dear ! he cryd, 

In grene wod ze're zour lain ; 
Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ze rede, 25 

For fear ze should be tain. 
Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha', 

Bid hir cum here wi speid : 
If ze refuse my heigh command, 

111 gar zour body bleid. SO 

Gae bid hir take this gay mantel, 
' I i^ a' gowd hot the hem ; 

Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode, 

\ iid bring uane hot hir lain : 

And (here it is, a silken sarke, 35 

I [ir am hand sewd (he sleive ; 
And hid hir cum to Gill JMorice, 

Speir nae hanld harons leave. 

Ver. II, something seems \% ;intiii<^ lure. V. 32, and 68, 

perhaps, 'boul the hem. 





GIL MORRICE. 


219 


Yes, I will gae zour black errand, 




Gae bring a robe of zour eliding, 




Though it be to zour cost ; 


40 


That lungs upon the pin ; 




Sen ze by me will nae be warn'd, 




And I'll gae to the gude grene wode, 




In it ze sail find frost. 




And speik wi' zour lemman. 


100 


The baron he is a man of might, 




O bide at hame, now Lord Barnard, 




He neir could bide to taunt, 




I warde ze bide at hame ; 




As ze will see before its nicht, 


45 


Neir wyte a man for violence, 




How sma' ze hae to vaunt. 




That neir wate ze wi' nane. 




And sen I maun zour errand rin 




Gil Morice state in gude grene wode, 

He whistled and he sang : 
O what mean a' the folk coming, 


105 


Sae sair against my will ; 






I'se mak a vow and keip it trow, 

It sail be done for ill. 
And quhen he came to broken brigue, 

He bent his bow and swam ; 
And quhen he came to grass growing, 

Set down his feet and ran. 


50 


My mother tarries lang. 
His hair was like the threeds of gold, 

Drawne frae Minerva's loome : 
His lipps like roses drapping dew, 

His breath was a' perfume. 

His brow was like the mountain snae 


110 


And quhen he came to Barnards ha', 


55 


Gilt by the morning beam : 




Would neither chap nor ca': 




His cheeks like living roses glow : 


115 


Bot set his bent bow to his breist, 




His een like azure stream. 




And lichtly lap the wa\ 




The boy was <dad in robes of grene, 




He wauld -nae tell the man his errand, 




Sweete as the infant spring : 




Though he stude at the gait ; 


60 


And like the mavis on the bush, 




Bot straiht into the ha' he cam, 




He gart the vallies ring. 


120 


Quhair they were set at meit. 


* 


The baron came to the grene wode, 




Hail ! hail ! my gentle sire and dame ! 

My message winna waite : 
Dame, ze maun to the gude grene wod 

Before that it be late. 




Wi' mickle dule and care, 
And there he first spied Gill Morice 




65 


Kameing his zellow hair* 
That sweetly wavd around his face, 


125 


Ze're bidden tak this gay mantel, 

Tis a' gowd bot the hem : 
Zou maun gae to the gude grene wode, 




That face beyond compare : 






He sang sae sweet it might dispel 






A' rage but fell despair. 




Ev'n by your sel alane. 


70 


Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morice, 








My lady loed thee w T eel, 
The fairest part of my bodie 

Is blacker than thy heel. 
Zet neir the less now, Gill Morice, 


130 


And there it is, a silken sarke, 






Your ain hand sewd the sleive ; 






Ze maun gae speik to Gill Morice : 






Speir nae bauld barons leave. 




For a' thy great beautie, 
Ze's rew the day ze eir was born ; 
That head sali gae wi' me. 




The lady stamped wi' hir foot, 


75 


135 


And winked wi' hir ee ; 






Bot a' that she coud say or do, 






Forbidden he wad nae bee. 




Now he has drawn his trusty brand, 
And slaited on the strae ; 




Its surely to my bow'r-woman ; 




And thro' Gill Morice' fair body 

He's gar cauld iron gae. 
And he has tain Gill Morice' head 




It neir could be to me. 


80 


140 


I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady ; 






I trow that ze be she. 




And set it on a speir ; 
The meanest man in a' his train 




Then up and spack the wylie nurse, 






(The bairn upon hir knee) 




Has gotten that head to bear. 




If it be cum frae Gill Morice, 


85 






It's deir welcum to mee. 




And he has tain Gill Morice up, 
Laid him across his steid, 


145 


Ze leid, ze leid, ze filthy nurse, 




And brocht him to his painted bowr, 
And laid him on a bed. 




Sae loud I heird ze lee ; 






I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady ; 




The lady sat on castil wa', 
Beheld baith dale and doun ; 




I trow ze be nae shee. 


90 


150 


Then up and spack the bauld baron, 




And there she saw Gill Morice' head 




An angry man was hee ; 
He's tain the table wi' his foot, 




Cum trailing to the toun. 




Sae has he wi' his knee ; 




Far better I loe that bluidy head, 
Both and that zellow hair, 




Till siller cup and ' mazer * ' dish 


95 




In flinders he gard flee. 




Than lord Barnard, and a' his lands, 
As they lig here and thair. 


155 


Ver. 58, Could this be the wall of the castle? V 


88, Per- 


Ver. 128. So Milton, 




haps, loud say I heire. 




Vernal delight and joy : able to drive 




* i. e. a drinking cup of maple : other Edit, reac 


ezar. 


All sadness but despair. B. iv. v. 


155 



HQ 



THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY. 



And she has tain her Gill Morice, 
And kissd baith mouth and cliin : 

I was once as fow of Gill IMorice, 

As the hip is o' the stean. 160 

I got ze in my father's house, 

\\ i' mickle sin and shame ; 
1 hrocht thee up in gude grene wode, 

Under the heavy rain. 
Oft have 1 by thy cradle sitten, 165 

And fondly seen thee sleip ; 
But now I gae about thy grave, 

The saut tears for to weip. 

And s^e she kissd his bluidy cheik, 

And syne his bluidy chin : 
O better I loe my Gill Morice 

Than a' my kith and kin ! 
Away, away, ze ill woman, 

And an il deith mait ze dee : 
Gin I had kend he'd bin zour son, 175 

He'd neir bin slain for mee. 

Obraid me not, my Lord Barnard ! 

Obraid me not for shame i 
Wi' that saim speir O pierce my heart ! 

And put me out o' pain. 1 80 

Since nothing bot Gill IMorice head 

Thy jelous rage could quell, 
Let that saim hand now tak hir life, 

That neir to thee did ill. 

To me nae after days nor nichts 185 

Will eir be saft or kind ; 
I'll fill the air with heavy sighs, 

And greet till I am blind. 



Enouch of blood by me's bin spilt, 

Seek not zour death frae mee ; l?f» 

I rather lourd it had been my sel 
Than eather him or thee. 

With waefo wae I hear zour plaint ; 

Sair, sair I rew the deid, 
That eir this cursed hand of mine 195 

Had gardhis body bleid. 
Dry up zour tears, my winsome dame, 

Ze neir can heal the wound ; 
Ze see his head upon the speir, 

His heart's blude on the ground. 200 

I curse the hand that did the deid, 

The heart that thocht the ill ; 
The feet that bore me wi' silk speid, 

The comely zouth to kill. 
I'll ay lament for Gill Morice, 205 

As gin he were mine ain ; 
I'll neir forget the dreiry day 

On which the zouth was slain. 

%* This little pathetic tale suggested the plot of 
the tragedy of " Douglas." 

Since it was first printed, the Editor has been 
assured that the foregoing ballad is still current in 
many parts of Scotland, where the hero is univer- 
sally known by the name of" Child Maurice," pro- 
nounced by the common people Cheild or Cheeld ; 
which occasioned the mistake. 

It may be proper to mention, that other copies 
read ver. 110 thus : 

" Shot frae the golden sun." 

And ver 116 as follows : 

" His een like azure sheene." 



THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK. 



SERIES THE THIRD. 
BOOK II. 



I. 



THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY 



i contains a short summary of the exploits of this 

famous champion, as recorded in the old story books ; 
and is commonly intitled, " A pleasant song of the 
valiant deeds of chivalry achieved by that noble 
knight Sir Guy of Warwick, who, for the love of 
fail Phelis, became a hermit, and dyed in a cave of 
craggy rocke, a mile distant from Warwick." 

The history of Sir Guy, though now very pro- 
perly resigned to children, was once admired by all 
readers of wit and taste : for taste and wit had 
once their childhood. Although of English growth, 
it was early a favourite with other nations : it ap- 



peared in French in 1525 ; and is alluded to ii 'lie 
old Spanish romance Tirante el bianco, which, it is 
believed, was written not long after the year 1430. 
See advertisement to the French translation, 2 vols. 
12mo. 

The original whence all these stories are ex- 
tracted is a very ancient romance in old English 
verse, which is quoted by Chaucer as a celebrated 
piece even in his time, (viz.) 

" Men speken of romances of price, 

Of Home childeand Ippotis, 

Of Bevis.and Sir Guy, &c." H. of Thop 1 



THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY. 



221 



and was usually sung to the harp at Christmas din- 
ners and brideales, as we learn from Puttenham's 
Art of Poetry, 4to. 1589. 

This ancient romance is not wholly lost. An 
imperfect copy in black letter, " Imprynted at Lon- 
don for Wylliam Copland," in 34 sheets 4to. 

without date, is still preserved among Mr. Garrick's 
collection of old plays. Asa specimen of the poetry 
of this antique rhymer, take his description of the 
dragon mentioned in ver. 105 of the following ballad: 

— " A messenger came to the king. 

Syr king, he sayd, lysten me now, 

For bad tydinges I bring you, 

In Northumberland^ there is no man, 

But that they be slayne every chone : 

For there dare no man route, 

By twenty myle rounde aboute, 

For doubt of a fowle dragon, 

That sleath men and beastes downe. 

He is blacke as any cole 

Rugged as a rough fole ; 

His bodye from the navill upward e 

No man may it pierce it is so harde ; 

His neck is great as any summere ; 

He renneth as swifte as any distrere ; 

Pawes he hath as. a lyon : 

All that he toucheth he sleath dead downe. 

Great winges he hath to flight, 

That is no man that bare him might. 

There may no man fight him agayne, 

But that he sleath him certayne : 

For a fowler beast then is he, 

Ywis of none never heard ye." 

Sir William Dugdale is of opinion that the story of 
Guy is not wholly apocryphal, though he acknow- 
ledges the monks have sounded out his praises too 
hyperbolically. In particular, he gives the duel fought 
with the Danish champion as a real historical truth, 
and fixes the date of it in the year 926, astat. Guy 
67. See his Warwickshire. 

The following is written upon the same plan as 
ballad V. Book I. but which is the original, and 
which the copy, cannot be decided. This song is 
ancient, as maybe inferred from the idiom preserved 
in the margin, ver. 94. 102 : and was once popular, 
as appears from Fletcher's Knight of the Burning- 
Pestle, Act 2. sc. ult. 

It is here published from an ancient MS copy in 
the Editor's old folio vohime, collated with two 
printed ones, one of which is in black letter in the 
Pepys collection. 

Was ever knight for ladyes sake 

Soe tost in love, as I Sir Guy 
For Phelis fay re, that lady bright 

As ever man beheld with eye 1 

She gave me leave myself to try, 5 

The valiant knight with sheeld and speare, 

Ere that her love shee wold grant me ; 
Which made mee venture far and neare. 

Then proved I a baron bold, 

In deeds of armes the doughtyest knight 10 
That in those dayes in England was, 

With sworde and speare in fieild to fight. 

Ver 9, The proud Sir Guy, PC. 



An English man I was by birthe : 

In faith of Christ a christyan true : 
The wicked laws of infidells 15 

I sought by prowesse to subdue. 

' Nine' hundred twenty yeere and odde 

After our Saviour Christ his birth, 
When King Athelstone wore the crowne, 

I lived heere upon the earth. 20 

Sometime I was of Warwicke erle, 

And, as I sayd, of very truth 
A ladyes love did me constraine 

To seeke strange ventures in my youth. 

To win me fame by feates of armes 25 

In strange and sundry heathen lands ; 

Where I atchieved for her sake 

Right dangerous conquests with my hands. 

For first I sayled to Normandye, 

And there I stoutlye wan in fight 30 

The emperours daughter of Almaine, 

From manye a vallyant worthye knight. 

Then passed I the seas to Greece 
To helpe the emperour in his right ; 

Against the mightye souldans hoaste 3o 

Of puissant Persians for to fight. 

Where I did slay of Sarazens, 

And heathen pagans, manye a man ; 

And slew the souldans cozen deere, 

Who had to name doughtye Coldran. 40 

Eskeldered a famous knight 

To death likewise I did pursue : 
And Elmayne King of Tyre alsoe, 

Most terrible in fight to viewe. 

I went into the souldans hoast, 4^ 

Being thither on embassage sent, 
And brought his head awaye with mee ; 

I having slaine him in his tent. 

There was a dragon in that land 

Most fiercely mett me by the waye 50 

As hee a lyon did pursue, 

Which I myself did alsoe slay. 

Then soon I past the seas from Greece, 

And came to Pavye land aright : 
Where I the duke of Pavye killed, 55 

His hainous treason to requite. 

To England then I came with speede, 

To wedd faire Phelis lady bright : 
For love of whome I travelled farr 

To try my manhood and my might. 6o 

But when I had espoused her, 

I stayd with her but fortye dayes, 
Ere that I left this ladye faire, 

And went from her beyond the seas. 

All cladd in gray, in pilgrim sort, 6p 

My voyage from her I did take 
Unto the blessed Holy-land, 

For Jesus Christ my Saviours sake. 

Ver. 17, Two hundred, MS. and P. 






(.IV AM) AMARANT. 



Where 1 Erie Jonas did redeems, 

And all his sonnes, which wfe fifteeno, 70 

Who with the cruel] Sara/ens 

In prison for long time had beene. 

I slew the grant Ainarant 

In battel fiercelye hand to hand : 
And doughty Barknard killed 1, 7b 

A treacherous knight of Pavye land. 

Thpn I to England came againe, 

And here with Colhronde fell I fought : 

An ugly gvant, which the Danes 

Had for their champion hither brought. 80 

I overcame him in the feild, 

And slew him soone right valiantlye ; 

Wherebye tins land I did redeeme 
From Danish tribute utterlye. 

And afterwards I offered upp 8.") 

The use of weapons sohmnlye 
At Winchester, whereas I fought, 

In sight of manye farr and nye. 

' But first,' neare Winsor, I did slave 

A bore of passing might and strength ; 90 

Whose like in England never was 

For hugenesse both in bredth and length. 

Some of his bones in W arwicke yett 

Within the castle there doe lye : 
One of his sheeld-bones to this day 9.5 

Hangs in the citye of Coventrye. 

On Dunsmore heath I alsoe slewe 
A monstrous wyld and cruell beast, 

Calld the Dun-cow of Dunsmore heath ; 

Which manye people had opprest. 100 

Some of her bones in Warwicke yett 

Still for a monument doe lye , 
And there exposed to lookers viewe 

As wondrous strange, they may espye. 



A dragon in Northumberland itiS 

I alsoe did in fight destroye, 
Which did bothe man and beast oppresse, 

And all the countrye sore aauoye. 

At length to Warwicke I did come, 

Like pilgrim poore, and was not knowne ; llf 
And there I lived a hermitts life 

A mile and more out of die towne. 

Where with my hands I hewed a house 

Out of a craggy rocke of stone ; 
And lived like a palmer poore 1 1.- 

Within that cave myself alone : 

And davlye came to begg mv bread 

Of Phelis att my castle gate ; 
Not knowne unto my loved wiffe. 

Who dailye mourned for her mate. Ify 

Till att the last I fell sore sicke, 

Yea s'cke soe sore that I must dye ; 

I sent to her a ring of golde, 

By which shee knew me presentlye. 

Then shee repairing to the cave 1 £."» 

Before that I gave up the ghost : 
Herself closd up my dying eyes : 

My Phelis faire, whom I lovd most. 

Thus dreadful death did me arrest, 

To bring my corpes unto the grave ; ISC 

And like a palmer dyed I, 

Wherby I sought my soule to save. 



My body that endured this toyle, 

Though now it be consumed to mold ; 

My statue fair engraven in stone, 1 ;>.' 

In Warwicke still you may behold. 



GUY AND AMARANT. 



The Editor found this Poem in his ancient folio 
manuscript among the old ballads ; he was desirous, 
therefore, that it should still accompany them ; and 
as it is not altogether devoid of merit, its insertion 

here will be pardom d. 

Although this piece seems not imperfect, there is 
reason to believe that, it is only a part OX a much 
larger poem, which contained the whole history of 

Sir Guy : for, upon comparing it with the common 
story bool t9mo, \>«- find the latter to be nothing 
move than this poem reduced to prose: which is 
only effected by»-how and then altering the rhyme, 

and throwing out some lew ol'tlie poetical ornaments. 
The disguise; is so Blight, that it is an easy matter to 
pick complete stanzas in any page of that book* 



Y.i M, 102, 'luih |ye, MS. 



The author of this poem has shown some inven- 
tion. Though lie took the subject from the old 
romance quoted before, he has adorned it afresh 
and made the story intirely his own. 

Gv\ journeves towards that sanctifyed ground, 
\\ liereas the Jewes fay re citye sometime stood, 

Wherein our Saviours sacred bead was crpwnd, 

And where for sinful] man he shed his blood : 
To see the sepu'eher was his intent, 5 

The tombe that Joseph unto Jesus lent. 

With tedious miles he tyred his wearye feet, 

And passed depart places full of danger, 
At last with a most woel'nll wight* did meet, 

• Brie Jonas, mentioned in the foregoing ballnd. 



GUY AND AMARANT. 



A man that unto sorrow was noe stranger ; 
For he had fifteen sonnes, made captives all 
To slav ish hondage, in extremest thrall. 



10 



A gyant called Amarant detaind them, 

Whom noe man durst encounter for his strength : 
Who in a castle, which he held, had chaind them : 15 

Guy questions, where 1 and understands at length 
The place not farr. — Lend me thy sword, quoth hee, 
lie lend my manhood all thy sonnes to free. 

With that he goes, and lays upon the dore, 

Like one that sayes, I must, and will come in : 20 

The gyant never was soe rowz'd before : 
For noe such knocking at his gate had bin : 

Soe takes his keyes, and clubb, and cometh out. 

Staring with ireful countenance about. 

Sirra, quoth hee, what business hast thou heere ? 25 
Art come to feast the crowes about my walls? 

Didst never heare, noe ransome can him cleere, 
That in the compasse of my furye falls : . 

For making me to take a porters paines, 

With this same clubb I will dash out thy braines. 30 

Gyant, qUoth Guy, y'are quarrelsome I see, 
Choller and you seem very neere of kin : 
Most dangerous at the clubb belike you bee ; 

. I have bin better armd, though nowe goe thin : 
But shew thy utmost hate, enlarge thy spight, 35 
Keene is my weapon, and shall doe me right. 

Soe draws his sword, salutes him with the same 
About the head, the shoulders, and the side : 

Whilst his erected clubb doth death proclaime, 
StancFinge with huge Colossus' spacious stride, 40 

Putting such vigour to his knotty beame, 

That like a furnace he did smoke extreame. 

But on the ground he spent his strokes in vaine, 
For Guy was nimble to avoyde them still, 

And ever ere he heav'd his clubb againe, 45 

Did brush his plated coat against his will : 

Att such advantage Guy wold never fayle, 

To bang him soundlye in his coate of mayle. 

Att last through thirst the gyant feeble grewe, 
And sayd to Guy, As thou'rt of humane race, 50 

Shew itt in this, give natures wants their dewe, 
Let me but goe, and drinke in yonder place : 

Thou canst not yeeld to 'me' a smaller thing, 

Than to graunt life, thats given by the spring. 

I graunt thee leave, quoth Guye, goe drink thy last,55 
Go pledge the dragon, and the salvage bore* ; 

Succeed the tragedyes that they have past, 
But never thinke to taste cold water more : 

Drinke deepe to death and unto him carouse : 

Bid him receive thee in his earthen house. 60 

Soe to the spring he goes, and slakes his thirst ; 

Takeing the water in extremely like 
Some wracked shipp that on a rocke is burst, 

Whose forced hulke against the stone does stryke ; 
Scooping it in soe fast with both his hands, ' 65 
That Guy admiring to behold it stands. 



Ver. 64, bulke, MS. and PCC. 
* Which Guy had slaiu before. 



Come on, quoth Guy, let us to worke againe, 
Thou stayest about thy liquor overlong ; 

The fish, which in the river doe remaine, 

Will want thereby ; thy drinking doth them wron^: 

But I will see their satisfaction made, 7 1 

With gyants blood they must, and shall be payd. 

Villaine, quoth Amarant, He crush thee streight ; 

Thy life shall pay thy daring toungs offence : 
This clubb, which is about some hundred weight, 75 

Is deathes commission to dispatch thee hence : 
Dresse thee for ravens dyett I must needes ; 
And breake thy bones, as they were made of reedes. 

Incensed much by these bold pagan bostes, 

Which worthye Guy cold ill endure to heare, 80 

He hewes upon those bigg supporting postes, 
Which like two pillars did his body beare : 

Amarant for those wounds in choller growes 

And desperatelye att Guy his clubb he throwes : 

Which did directly on his body light, 85 

Soe violent, and weighty there-withall, 

That downe to ground on sudden came the knight ; 
And, ere he cold recover from the fall, 

The gyant gott his clubb againe in fist, 

And amid a stroke that wonderfullye mist. 90 

Traytor, quoth Guy, thy falshood He repay, 
This coward act to intercept my bloode. 

Sayes Amarant, He murther any way, 
With enemyes all vantages are good : 

O could I poyson in thy nostrills blowe, 9i 

Besure of i' I wold dispatch thee soe. 

Its well, said Guy, thy honest thoughts appeare, 
Within that beastlye bulke where devills dwell ; 

Which are thy tenants while thou livest heare, 
But will be landlords when thou comest in hell : 

Vile miscreant, prepare thee for their den, 101 

Inhumane monster, hatefull unto men. 

But breathe thy selfe a time, while I goe drinke, 
For flanieing Phoebus with his fyerye eye 

Torments me soe with burning heat, I thinke 105 
My thirst wold serve to drinke an ocean drye : 

Forbear a litle, as I delt with thee. 

Quoth Amarant. 'Thou hast noe foole of mee. 

Noe, sillye wretch, my father taught more witt, 
How I shold use such enemyes as thou ; 1^0 

By all my gods I doe rejoice at itt, 

To understand that thirst constraines thee now ; 

For all the treasure, that the world containes, 

One drop of water shall not coole thy'vaines. 

Releeve my foe ! why, 'twere a madmans part : 115 

Refresh an adversarye to my wrong ! 
If Ihou imagine this, a child thou art : 

Noe, fellow, I have known the world too long 
To be soe simple : now I know thy want, 
A minutes space of breathing I'll not graut. 180 

And with these words heaving aloft his clubb 
Into the ayre, he swings the same about : 

Then shakes his lockes, and doth his temples rubb, 
And, like the Cyclops, in his pride doth strout : 

Sirra, sayes hee, I have you at a lift, 13 

Now you are come unto your latest shift. 



2*4 



GUV AND AMARANT. 



Perish forever : with this strobe I send thee 
A medicine, that will doe thy thirst much ^ood ; 

Take noe more care tor drinke hefore I end thee, 
And then we. ''11 have carouses of thy blood ; 130 

Here's at thee with a butcher's downright blow, 

To please my 1'urye with thine overthrow. 

Infernall, false, obdurate feend, said Guy, 
That seemst a lump of crueltye from hell ; 

Ungrateful] monster, since thou dost deny 135 

The thing to mee wherin I used thee well : 

W "ith more revenge, than ere my sword did make, 

On thy accursed head revenge lie take. 

Thy gyants longitude shall shorter shrinke, 

Except thy sun-scorcht skin be weapon proof :140 

Farewell my thirst ; I doe disdaine to drinke ; 

Streames keepe your waters to your owne behoof ; 

Or let wild beasts be welcome thereunto ; 

Widi those pearle drops I will not have to do. 

Here, tyrant, take a taste of my good- will, 145 

For thus I doe begin my bloodye bout : 

You cannot chuse but like the greeting ill ; 
It is not that same clubb will beare you out ; 

And take this payment on thy shaggye crowne — 

A blowe that brought him with a vengeance downe. 

Then Guy sett foot upon the monsters brest, 151 
And from his shoulders did his head divide ; 

Which with a yawninge mouth did gape, unblest ; 
Noe dragons jaw^es were ever seene soe wide 

To open and to shut, till life was spent. 155 

Then Guy tooke keyes, and to the castle went. 

Where manye woefull captives he did find, 
Which had beene tyred with extremityes ; 

Whom he in freindly manner did unbind, 
And reasoned with them of their miseryes; 160 

Eche told a tale with teares, and sighes, and cryes, 

All weeping to him with complaining eyes. 

There tender ladyes in darke dungeons lay, 
That were surprised in the desart wood, 

And had noe other dyett everye day, 165 

But flesh of humane creatures for their food : 

Some with their lovers bodves had beene fed, 

And in their wombes their husbands buryed. 

Now he bethinkes him of his being there, 

To enlarge the wronged brethren from their woes : 

And, as he searcheth, doth great clamours heare, 171 
By which sad sound's direction on he goes, 

I'litill he findes a darksome obscure gate, 

Arm'd strongly ouer all with iron plate. 



That he unlockes, and enters, where appeares 175 
The strangest object that he ever saw ; 

Men that with famishment of many yeares, 

Were likedeathes picture, which the painters draw ; 

Divers of them were hanged by eche thombe ; 

Others head-downward : by the middle seme. 180 

With diligence he takes them from the walle, 
With lybertye their thraldome to acquaint: 

Then the perplexed knight their father calls, [faint 
And sayes, Receive thy sonnes though poore and 

I promisd you their lives, accept of that ; 185 

But did not warrant you they shold be fat. 

The castle I doe give thee, heere's the keyes, 
Where tyranye for many yeeres did dwell : 

Procure the gentle tender ladyes ease, 

For pittyes sake, use wronged women well : 190 

Men easilye revenge the wrongs men do ; 

But poore w r eake women have not strength thereto, ] 

The good old man, even overjoyed with this, 

Fell on the ground, and wold havekist Guys feete: ! 

Father, quoth he, refraine soe base a kiss, 195 

For age to honor youth I hold unmeete : 

Ambitious pryde hath hurt mee all it can, 

I goe to mortifie a sinfull man. 

*,* The foregoing poem on " Guy and Amarant " 
has been discovered to be a fragment of " The famous 
historie of Guy earle of Warwicke, by Samuel Row- 
lands, London, printed by J. Bell, 1649," 4to. in xii 
cantos, beginning thus : 

" When dreadful Mars in armour every day." 

Whether the edition in 1649 was the first is not 
known, but the author Sam. Rowlands was one of the 
minor poets who lived in the reigns of Queen Eliza- 
beth and James I. and perhaps later. His other 
poems are chiefly of the religious kind, which makes 
it probable that the history of Guy was one of his 
earliest performances. — There are extant of his (1.) 
" The betraying of Christ, Judas in dispaire, the 
seven w r ords of our Saviour on the crosse, with other 
poems on the passion, &c. 1598, 4to. [Ames Typ. p. 
428.] — (2) A Theatre of delightful Recreation. 
Lond. printed for A. Johnson, 1605," 4to. (Penes 
editor.) This is a book of poems on subjects chiefly 
taken from the Old Testament. (3.) " Memory o! 
Christ's miracles, in verse. Lond. 1618, 4to." (4.) 
" Heaven's glory, earth's vanity, and hell's horror." 
Lond. 1638, 8vo. [These two in Bod. Cat.] 

In the present edition the foregoing poem has been 
much improved from the printed copy. 



FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM. 



ttb 



TIL 



THE AULD GOOD-MAN. 



A SCOTTISH SONG. 



I have not been able to meet with a more ancient 
;opy of this humorous old song, than that printed 
in the Tea-Table Miscellany, &c. which seems to 
have admitted some corruptions. 

Late in an evening forth I went 

A little before the sun gade down, 
And there I chanc't, by accident, 

To light on a battle new begun : 
A man and his wife wer fawn in a strife, 5 

I canna weel tell ye how it began ; 
But aye she wail'd her wretched life, 

Cryeng, Evir alake, mine auld goodman ! 



Thy auld goodman, that thou tells of, 

The country kens where he was born, 
Was but a silly poor vagabond, 

And ilka ane leugh him to scorn : 
For he did spend and make an end 

Of gear ' his fathers nevir' wan ; 
He gart the poor stand frae the door ; 

Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman. 



10 



15 



My heart, alake ! is liken to break, 

Whan I think on my winsome John, 
His blinkan ee, and gait sae free, 

Was naithing like thee, thou dosend droi.e ; 20 
Wi' his rosie face, and flaxen hair, 

And skin as white as ony swan, 
lie was large and tall, and comely withall ; 

Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman. 



Why dost thou plein ? I thee maintein ; 

For meal and mawt thou disna want : 
But thy wild bees I canna please, 

Now whan our gear gins to grow scant . 
Of houshold stuff thou hast enough ; 

Thou wants for neither pot nor pan ; 
Of sicklike ware he left thee bare ; 

Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman. 



Yes I may tell, and fret my sell, 

To think on those blyth days I had, 
Whan I and he together ley 

In armes into a well-made bed : 
But now I sigh and may be sad, 

Thy courage is cauld, thy colour wan, 
Thou falds thy feet, and fa's asleep ; 

Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodma 



Then coming was the night sae dark, 

And gane was a' the light of day : 
The cai'le was fear'd to miss his mark, 

And therefore wad nae longer stay : 
Then up he gat, and ran his way, 

I trowe, the wife the clay she wan ; 
And aye the owreword of the fray 

Was, Evir alake ! mine auld goodman. 



15 



30 



35 



4C 



45 



IV. 



FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM. 



This seems to be the old song quoted in Fletcher's 
" Knight of the Burning Pestle," Acts 2d and ,3d ; 
although the six lines there preserved are somewhat 
different from those in the ballad, as it stands at 
present. The reader will not wonder at this, when 
he is informed that this is only given from a modern 
printed copy picked up on a stall. Its full title is, 
" Fair Margaret's Misfortunes ; or Sweet William's 
frighful dreams on his wedding night, with the 
sudden death and burial of those noble lovers." — 

The lines preserved in the play are this distich, 

" You are no love for me, Margaret, 
I am no love for you." 
And the following stanza, 

" When it was grown to dark midnight, 
And all were fast asleep, 
In came Margarets grimly ghost 
And stocd at Williams feet." 



These lines have acquired an importance by giving 
birth to one of the most beautiful ballads in our own 
or any language. See the song entitled "Margaret's 
Ghost," at the end of this volume. 

Since the first edition some improvements have 
been inserted, which were communicated by a lady 
of the first distinction, as she had heard this song 
repeated in her infancy. 

As it fell out on a long summer's day 

Two lovers they sat on a hill ; 
They sat together that long summer's dav, 

And could not talk their fill. 



I see no harm by you, Margaret,. 

And you see none by mee ; 
Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock 

A rich wedding you shall see. 



2-26 BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY. 


Fair Margaret Bat in her bower-window, 


Then he turned up the covering-sheet, 


45 


Combing her yellow hair; 10 


Pray let me see the dead : 




There she spved Bweet William and his bride, 


Methinks she looks all pale and wan, 




As they were i riding near, 


She hath lost her cherry red. 




Then down she hud her ivory combe, 


I'll do more for thee, Margaret, 




And braided her hair in twain : 


Than any of thy kin ; 


50 


She went alive out of her bower, 15 


For I will kiss thy pale wan lips, 




But ne'er came alive in't again. 


Though a smile I cannot win. 




When day was gone, and night was come, 


With that bespake the seven brethren, 




And all men fast asleep, 


Making most piteous mone : 




Then came the spirit of fair Marg'ret, 


You may go kiss your jolly brown bride, 


55 


And stood at Williams feet. 20 


And let our sister alone. 




Are you awake, sweet William ? shee said ; 


If T do kiss my jolly brown bride, 




Or, sweet William, are you asleep ? 


I do but what is right ; 




God give you joy of your gay bride-bed, 


I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse 




And me of my winding sheet. 


By day, nor yet by night. 


60 


When day was come, and night was gone, 2.5 


Deal on, deal on, my merry men all, 




And ali men wak'd from sleep, 


Deal on your cake and your wine * : 




Sweet William to his lady sayd, 


For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day, 




My dear, I have cause to weep. 


Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine. 




I dreamt a dream, my dear ladye, 


Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day, 


65 


Such dreames are never good : 30 


Sweet William dyed the morrow : 




I dreamt my bower was full of red ' wine,' 


Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love, 




And my bride-bed full of blood. 


Sweet William dyed for sorrow. 




Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured sir, 


Margaret was buryed in the lower chancel, 




They never do prove good : 


And William in the higher : 


TO 


To dream thy bower w r as full of red ' wine,' 35 


Out of her brest there sprang a rose, 




And thy bride-bed full of blood. 


And out of his a briar. 




He called up his merry men all, 


They grew till they grew unto the church top 




By one, by two, and by three ; 


And then they could grow no higher ; 




Saving, I'll away to fair Marg'ret's bower, 


And there they tyed in a true lovers knot, 


75 


By the leave of my ladie. 40 


Which made all the people admire. 




And when he came to fair Marg'ret's bower, 


Then came the clerk of the parish, 




He knocked at the ring ; 


As you the truth shall hear, 




And who so ready as her seven brethren 


And by misfortune cut them down, 




To let sweet William in. 


Or they had now been there. 




\ 
BARBARA ALL 


EN'S CRUELTY. 




Given, with some corrections, from an old black 


He sent his man unto her then, 




letter copy, entitled, " Barbary Allen's cruelty, or 


To the town where shee was dwellin ; 


10 


the Young Man's Tragedy." 


You must come to my master deare, 




1 Scarlet towne, where I was borne, 


Giff your name be Barbara Allen. 




There was a faire maid dwellin, 






Made every youth cr\e, Wel-awaye ! 
Hex name was Barbara Allen. 


For death is printed on his face, 

And ore his hart is stealin : 
Then haste away to comfort him, 


15 


All in the merrye month of May, 5 


level ye Barbara Allen. 




When greene buds they were Bwellin, 


'1 bough death be printed on his face, 
And ore his harte is stealin, 




Song Jeminye Grove on his death-bed lay, 




For love of Barbara Allen. 


Yet little better shall he bee 






For bonny Barbara Allen. 


20 1 


Ver. 81, Bff, twine, PCC. 


• Alluding to the dole antientl] given at fbneraU. 



SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST. 



227 



So slowly, slowly, she came up, 

And slowly she came nye him ; 
And all she sayd, when there she came, 

Yong man, I think y'are dying. 

He turnd his face unto her strait, 25 

With deadlye sorrow sighing ; 

lovely maid, come pity mee, 
Ime on my deth-bed lying. 

If on your death-bed you doe lye, 

What needs the tale you are tellin ; 30 

1 cannot keep you from your death ; 
Farewell, sayd Barbara Alltn. 

He turnd his face unto the wall, 

As deadlye pangs he fell in : 
Adieu ! adieu ' adieu to you all, 35 

Adieu to Barbara Allen. 

As she was walking ore the fields. 

She heard the bell a knellin ; 
And every stroke did seem to saye, 

Unworthy Barbara Allen. 40 

She turnd her bodye round about. 

And spied the corps a coming : 
Laye down, laye down the corps, she sayd, 

That I may look upon him. 



With scornful eye she looked downe, 45 

Her cheeke with laughter swellin ; 

Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine ; 
Unworthye Barbara Allen. 



When he was dead, and laid in grave, 

Her harte was struck with sorrowe, 50 

mother, mother, make my bed, 
For I shall dye to-morrowe. 

Hard-harted creature him to slight, 

Who loved me so dearlye : 
O that I had beene more kind to him, 55 

When he was alive and neare me ! 



She, on her death-bed as she laye, 

Beg'd to be buried by him ; 
And sore repented of the daye, 

That she did ere denve him. 60 



Farewell, she sayd, ye virgins all, 
And shun the fault I fell in : 

Henceforth take warning by the fall 
Of cruel Barbara Allen. 



VI. 



SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST. 



A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 



From Allan Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany. The 
concluding stanza of this piece seems modern. 

There came a ghost to Margaret's door, 

With many a grievous grone, 
And ay he tirled at the pin ; 

But answer made she none. 



Is this my father Philip > 
Or is't my brother John ? 

Or is't my true love Willie, 

From Scotland new come home ? 



Tis not thy father Philip ; 

Nor yet thy brother John : 
But 'tis thy true love Willie 

From Scotland new come home. 

O sweet Margret ! O dear Margret ! 

I pray thee speak to mee r 
Give me my faith and troth, Margret, 

As I gave it to thee. 

Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get, 

' Of me shalt nevir win,' 
Till that thou come within my bower, 

And kiss my cheek and chin. 



10 



15 



20 



If I should come within thy bower, 

I am no earthly man : 
And should I kiss thy rosy lipp, 

Thy days will not be lang. 

O sweet Margret, O dear Margret, 

I pray thee speak to mee : 
Give me my faith and troth, Margret 

As I gave it to thee. 

Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get, 

' Of me shalt nevir win/ 
Till thou take me to yon kirk yard, 

And wed me with a ring. 

My bones are buried in a kirk yard 

Afar beyond the sea, 
And it is but my sprite, Margret, 

That's speaking now to thee. 

She stretched out her lily-white hand, 

As for to do her best : 
Hae there your faith and troth, Willie, 

God send your soul good rest. 

Now she has kilted her robes of green, 

A piece below her knee : 
And a' the live-lang winter night 

The dead corps followed shee. 



25 



30 



35 



40 



228 



THE BALIKF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON. 



Is there any room at your head, Willie ? !."> 

Or any room at your feet? 
Or any room at your side, Willie, 

Wherein that 1 may creep? 

There's nae room at my head, Margret. 

There's nae room at my feet, 50 

There's no room at my side, Margret, 

My coffin is made so meet. 

Then up and crew the red red cock, 
And up then crew the gray : 



Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret, 
That ' 1' were gane away. 

No more the ghost to Margret said, 

But, with a grievous grone, 
Evanish 'd in a cloud of mist, 

And left her all alone. 

O stay, my only true love, stay, 

The constant Margret cried : 
Wan grew her cheeks, she closed her een, 

Stretch'd her saft limbs, and died. 



55 



60 



VII. 



SIR JOHN GREIIME AND BARBARA ALLAN. 



A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 



Printed, witi & few conjectural emendations, from 
written copy. 

It was in and about the Martinmas time, 
When the greene leaves wer a fallan ; 

That Sir John Grehme o' the west country e, 
Fell in luve wi' Barbara Allan. 



He sent his man down throw the towne, 
To the plaice wher she was dwellan : 

haste and cum to my maister deare, 
Gin ye bin Barbara Allan. 



hooly, hooly raise she up, 

To tfie plaice wher he was lyan ; 

And whan she drew the curtain by, 
Young man I think ye're dyan*. 



O its I'm sick, and very very sick, 
And its a' for Barbara Allan. 

O the better for me ye'se never be, 
Though your harts blude wer spillan. 



15 



Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir, 

W^han ye the cups wer fillan ; 
How ye made the healths gae round and round, 

And slighted Barbara Allan ? 20 

He turn'd his face unto the wa', 

And death was with him dealan ; 
Adiew ! adiew ! my dear friends a', 

Be kind to Barbara Allan. 

Then hooly, hooly raise she up, £ 

And hooly, hooly left him ; 
And sighan said, she could not stay, 

Since death of life had reft him. 

She had not gane a mile but twa, 

Whan she heard the deid-bell knellan ; 

And everye jow the deid-bell gied, 
Cried, Wae to Barbara Allan ! 

O mither, mither, mak my bed, 

O mak it saft and narrow : 
Since my love died for me to day, 

Ise die for him to morrowe. 



30 



VIII. 

THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON. 



From an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys 
Collection, with some improvements communicated 
by a ladv as she had hoard the same recited in her 
youth. The full title is, "True love requited: Or, 
the Bailiff's daughter of Islington." 
Islington in Norfolk is probably the place hero meant. 

Tin hi was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe, 
And lie was a squires son : 

lie loved the baylinea daughter deare, 

That lived in Islington. 

• An ingenious friend thinks ili< ih\mrs I hand and 

Lyand ongil t<> be tranapoaed: u 1 1 »« ■ tanni Young man, 

I think ye're lyand, would be vi iy rhuaiii n li.al. 



Yet she was coye, and would not believe 

That he did love her soe, 
Noe nor at any time would she 

Any countenance to him showe. 

But when his friendes did understand 

His fond and foolish minde, 
They sent him up to faire London 

An apprentice for to binde. 

And when ho had been seven long yeares, 
And never his love could see : 

Many a teare have I shed for her sake, 
When she little thought of mee. 



10 



15 



THE WILLOW TREE. 



229 



Then all the maids of Islington 

Went forth to sport and playe, 
All but the bayliffes daughter deare ; 

She secretly stole awaye. 20 

She pulled off her gowne of greene, 

And put on ragged attire, 
And to faire London she would go 

Her true love to enquire. 

And as she went along the high road, 25 

The weather being hot and drye, 
She sat her downe upon a green bank, 

And her true love came riding bye. 

She started up, with a colour soe redd, 

Catching hold of his bridle-reine ; 30 

One penny, one penny, kind sir, she sayd, 
Will ease me of much paine. 

Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart, 
Praye tell me where you were borne. 



At Islington, kind sir, sayd shee, 35 

Where I have had many a scorne. 

I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee, 

O tell me, whether you knowe 
The bayliffes daughter of Islington. 

She is dead, sir, long agoe. 40 

If she be dead, then take my horse, 

My saddle and bridle also ; 
For I will into some farr countrye, 

Where noe man shall me knowe. 

O staye, staye, thou goodly e youthe, 45 

She standeth by thy side ; 
She is here alive, she is not dead, 

And readye to be thy bride. 

O fare wall griefe, and welcome joye, 

Ten thousand times therefore ; 50 

For nowe I have founde mine owne true love, - 

Whom I thought I should never see more. 



IX 



THE W r ILLOW TREE. 



A PASTORAL DIALOGUE. 



From the small black-letter collection, intitled, 
"The Golden Garland of princely Delights," coL 
Iated with two other copies, and corrected by con- 
jecture. 



How now, shepherde, what meanes that ? 
Why that willowe in thy hat ? 
Why thy scarffes of red and yellowe 
Turn'd to branches of greene willowe ? 

CUDDY. 

They are chang'd, and so am I ; 
Sorrowes live, but pleasures die : 
Phillis hath forsaken mee, 
Which makes me weare the willowe-tree. 



WILLY. 

Phillis! shee that lov'd thee long ? 
Is shee the lass hath done thee wrong? 
Shee that lov 'd thee long and best, 
Is her love turned to a jest? 

CUDDY. 

Shee that long true love profest, 
She hath robb'd my heart of rest : 



10 



For she a new love loves, not mee ; 
Which makes me wear the willowe-tree. 



Come then, shepherde, let us joine, 
Since thy happ is like to mine : 
For the maid I thought most true 
Mee hath also bid adieu. 

CUDDY. 

Thy hard happ doth mine appease, 
Companye doth sorrowe ease : 
Yet, Phillis, still I pine for thee, 
And still must weare the willowe-tree. 



Shepherde, be advis'd by mee, 
Cast off grief and willowe-tree : 
For thy grief brings her content, 
She is pleas'd if thou lament. 

CUDDY. 

Herdsman, I'll be rul'd by thee, 
There lyes grief and willowe-tree 
Henceforth I will do as they, 
And love a new love every day. 



15 



20 



25 



30 



-2C0 THE LADY'S FALL. 


THE 


X. 
LADY'S FALL, 




is given (with corrections) from the editor's 


Think on thy former promises, 




ancient folio MS. collated with two printed 


copies 


Thy oathes and vowes eche one ; 




in hlack-letter ; one in the British Museum, the 


Remember with what bitter teares 




other in the Pepvs Collection. Its old title is, " A 


To mee thou madest thy moane. 




lamentable ballad of the Lady's fall." To the tune 


Convey mee to some secrett place, 


ib 


of " In Pescod Time, &c." — The ballad here re- 


And marye me with speede ; 




ferred to is preserved in the " Muses Library, 


" 8vo. 


Or with thy rapyer end my life, 




p. 281. It is an allegory or vision, intitled, 
Shepherd's Slumber," and opens with some 


" The 


Ere further shame proceede. 




pretty 






rural images, viz. 




Alacke ! my beauteous love, quoth hee, 








My joye, and only dear ; 
Which way can I convey thee hence, 


50 


" In pescod time when hound to horn 






Gives eare till buck be kil'd, 




When dangers are so near '? 




And little lads with pipes of corne 




Thv friends are all of hye degree, 
And I of mean estate ; 




Sate keeping beasts a-field. 






" I went to gather strawberries 
By woods and groves full fair, &c." 




Full hard it is to gett thee forthe 


55 




Out of thy fathers gate. 




Marke well my heavy dolefull tale, 




Dread not thy life to save my fame, 




You loyall lovers all, 




For, if thou taken bee, 




And heedfully beare in your brest 




My selfe will step betweene the swords, 




A gallant ladyes fall. 




And take the harme on mee : 


60 


Long was she wooed, ere shee was wonne, 


5 


Soe shall I scape dishonour quite ; 




To lead a wedded life, 




And if I should be slaine, 




But folly wrought her overthrowe 




What could they say, but that true love 




Before shee was a wife. 




Had wrought a ladyes bane. 




Too soone, alas ! shee gave consent 




But feare not any further harme ; 


6.1 


And yeelded to his will, 


10 


My selfe will soe devise, 




Though he protested to be true, 




That I will ryde away with thee 




And faithfull to her still. 




Unknowen of mortall eyes : 




Shee felt her body altered quite, 




Disguised like some pretty page 




Her bright hue waxed pale, 




He meete thee in the darke, 


70 


Her lovelye cheeks chang'd color white, 


15 


And all alone lie come to thee 




Her strength began to fayle. 




Hard by my fathers parke. 




Soe that with many a sorrowful sigh, 




And there, quoth hee, He meete my deare 




This beauteous ladye milde, 




If God so lend me life, 




With greeved hart, perceived herselfe 




On this day month without all fayle 


75 


To have conceived with childe. 


20 


I will make thee my wife. 




Shee kept it from her parents sight 




Then with a sweet and loving kisse, 




As close as close might bee 




They parted presentlye, 




And soe put on her silken gowne 




And att their partinge brinish teares 




None might her swelling see. 




Stoode in eche others eye. 


80 


Unto her lover secretly 


25 


Att length the wished day was come, 




Her greefe shee did bewrav, 




On which this beauteous mavd, 




And, walking with him hand in hand, 




With longing eyes, and strange attire, 




These words to him did say ; 




For her true lover stayd. 




Behold} quoth shee, a maids distresse 




When any person shee espyed 


85 


By love brought to thy D0W6, 


30 


Come ryding ore the plaine, 




Behold 1 goe with childe by thee, 




She hop'd it was her owne true love : 




1 ho none thereof doth knowe. 




But all her hopes were vaine. 




The litle babe springs in my womhe 




Then did shee vreepe and sore bewayle 




To heare its rather* voyce, 




1 ler most unhappy fate ; 


90 


Lett it not be a bustard called, 


35 


Then did slice Bpeake these woefull words, 




Sith 1 made thee my cboyce : 




As Buooonrless she Bate ; 




Come, come, my love, perform thy vowe 




O false, forsworne, and faithlesse man, 




And wed me out of hand ; 




Disloyal] in thv love, 




leave me not in this extreme 




1 last thou forgott thv promise past, 


95 


Of griefe, alas ! to stand. 


40 


And wilt thou pciiured prove? 





WALY WALY LOVE BE BONNY. 



23* 



And hast thou now forsaken mee 

In this my great distresse, 
To end my days in open shame, 

Which thou mightst well redresse ? 100 

Woe worth the time I eer believ'd 

That flattering tongue of thine : 
Wold God that I had never seene 

The teares of thy false eyne. 

And thus with many a sorrowful sigh, 105 

Homewards shee went againe: 
Noe rest came in her waterye eyes, 

She felt such privye paine. 
In travail strong shee fell that night, 

With many a bitter throwe ; 110 

What woefull paines shee then did feel, 

Doth eche good woman knowe. 

Shee called up her waiting mayd, 

That lay at her bedds feete, 
Who musing at her mistress woe, 115 

Began full faste to weepe. 
Weepe not, said shee, but shutt the dores, 

And windowes round about, 
Let none bewray my wretched state, 

But keepe all persons out. 120 

O mistress, call your mother deare 

Of women you have neede, 
And of some skilfull midwifes helpe, 

That better may you speed. 



Call not my mother for thy life, 

Nor fetch no woman here ; 
The midwifes helpe comes all too late, 

My death I doe not feare. 

With that the babe sprang from her wombe 

No creature being nve, 
And with one sighe, which brake her hart, 

This gentle dame did dye. 
The lovely litle infant younge, 

The mother being dead, 
Resigned its new received breath 

To him that had it mad e. 

Next morning came her own true love, 

Affrighted at the newes, 
And he for sorrow slew himselfe, 

Whom eche one did accuse. 
The mother with her new borne babe, 

Were laide both in one grave ; 
Their parents overworne with woe, 

No joy thenceforth cold have. 

Take heed, you dayntye damsells all, 

Of flattering words beware, 
And to the honour of your name 

Have an especial care. 
Too true, alas ! this story is, 

As many one can tell : 
By others harmes learne to be wise, 

And you shall do full well. 



125 



130 



135 



140 



145 



159 



XI. 
WALY WALY, LOVE BE BONNY. 



A SCOTTISH SONG. 



This is a very ancient song, but we could only give 
it from a modern copy. Some editions instead of 
the four last lines in the second stanza have these, 
which have too much merit to be wholly sup- 
pressed : 

" Whan cockle shells turn siller bells, 

And muscles grow on every tree, 
When frost and snaw sail warm us aw', 

Than sail my love prove true to me." 

See the Orpheus Caledonius, &c. 

Arthur's-seat, mentioned in ver. 17, is a hill near 
Edinborough ; at the bottom of which is St. An- 
thony's well. 

waly waly up the bank, 
And waly waly down the brae, 

And waly waly yon burn side, 

Where I and my love wer wont to gae. 

1 leant my back unto an aik, 

I thought it was a trusty tree ! 
But first it bow'd and syne it brak, 
Sae my true love did lichtly me. 



O waly waly, gin love be bonny, 
A little time while it is new ; 

But when its auld, it waxeth cauld, 
And fades awa' like mornin°: dew 



10 



O wherfore shuld I busk my head ? 

Or wherfore shuld I kame my hair? 
For my true love has me forsook, 

And says he'll never loe me mair. 

Now Arthur-seat sail be my bed, 

The sheets shall neir be fyl'd by me : 

Saint Anton's well sail be my drink, 
Since my true love has forsaken me. 

Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw, 
And shake the green leaves aft" the tree ? 

gentle death, whan wilt thou cum? 
For of my life I am wearie. 

Tis not the frost, that freezes fell, 

Nor blawing snaws inclemencie ; 
'Tis not sic cauld, that makes me cry, 

But my loves heart grown cauld to me. 
Whan we came in by Glasgowe town, 

We were a comely sight to see, 
My love was cled in black velvet, 

And I my sell in cramasie. 

But had I wist, before I kisst, 

That love had been sae ill to win ; 

1 had lockt my heart in a case of gowd, 

And pinnd it with a siller pin. 
And, oh ! if my young babe were born, 

And set upon the nurses knee, 
And I my sell were dead and gane ! 

For a maid a°;ain Ise never be. 



15 



20 



30 



40 



1 if 



THE BRIDE'S BURIAL. 



XII. 



THE BRIDE'S BURIAL. 



From two ancient copies in black-letter: one in the 
Pepys Collection ; the other in the British Museum. 

To the tune of " The Lady's Fall." 

Come mourne, come mourne with mee, 

You loyall lovers all ; 
Lament my loss in weeds of woe, 

Whom griping grief doth thrall. 

Like to the drooping vine, 5 

Cut by the gardener's knife, 
Even so my heart, with sorrow slaine, 

Doth bleed for my sweet wife. 



By death, that grislye ghost, 

My turtle do re is slaine, 
And I am left, unhappy man, 

To spend my dayes in paine. 

Her beauty late so bright, 

Like roses in their prime, 
Is wasted like the mountain snowe, 

Before warme Phebus' shine. 

Her faire red colour'd cheeks 
Now pale and wan ; her eyes, 

That late did shine like crystal stars, 
Alas, their light it dies : 

Her prettye lilly hands, 

With fingers long and small, 

In colour like the earthly claye, 
Yea, cold and stiff withall. 

Wlien as the morning-star 
Her golden gates had spred, 

And that the glittering sun arose 
Forth from fair Thetis' bed ; 

Then did my love awake, 

Most like a lilly-flower, 
And as the lovely queene of heaven, 

So shone shee in her bower. 

Attired was shee then 

Like Flora in her pride, 
Like one of bright Diana's nymphs, 

So look'd my loving bride. 

And as fair Helens face 

Did Grecian dames besmirche, 

So did my dear exceed in sight 
All virgins in the church. 

When we had knitt the knott 

Of holy vredlock-band, 
Like alabaster joyn'd tojett, 

So stood wo band in hand 

Then lo ! a chilling cold 

Strucke every vital part, 
And griping griefe, like pangs of death, 

Seiz'd on my true love's heart. 



10 



15 



20 



30 



:tt 



40 



45 



Down in a swoon she fell, 

As cold as any stone ; 50 

Like Venus picture lacking life, 

So was my love brought home. 

At length her rosye red, 

Throughout her comely face, 
As Phoebus beames with watry cloudes S5 

Was cover'd for a space. 

When with a grievous groane, 

And voice both hoarse and drye, 
Farewell, quoth she, my loving friend, 

For I this daye must dye ; 60 

The messenger of God 

With golden trumpe I see, 
With manye other angels more, 

Which sound and call for mee. 

Instead of musicke sweet, 65 

Go toll my passing-bell ; 
And with sweet flowers strow my grave, 

That in my chamber smell. 

Strip off my bride's arraye, 

My cork shoes from my feet ; 70 

And, gentle mother, be not coye 

To bring my winding-sheet. 

My wedding dinner drest, 

Bestowe upon the poor, 
And on the hungry, needy, maimde, 75 

Now craving at the door. 

Instead of virgins yong, 

My bride-bed for to see, 
Go cause some cunning carpenter, 

To make a chest for mee. 80 

My bride laces of silk 

Bestow'd, for maidens meet, 
May fitly serve, when I am dead, 

To tye my hands and feet. 

And thou, my lover true, 85 

My husband and my friend, 
Let me intreat thee here to staye, 

Until my life doth end. 

Now leave to talk of love, 

And humblye on .your knee, 90 

Direct your prayers unto God : 

But mourn no more for mee. 

In love as we have livde, 

In love let us depart ; 
And I, in token of my love, 95 

Do kiss thee with my heart. 

staunch those bootless teares. 
Thy weeping tie in vaine; 

1 am not lost, - for wee in heaven 

Shall one daye meet againe. 100 



DULCINA. 233 


With that shee turn'd aside, 


And now this lover lives 


As one dispos'd to sleep, 


A discontented life, 


And like a lamh departed life : 


Whose bride was brought unto the grave 


Whose friends did sorely weep. 


A maiden and a wife. 120 


Her true love seeing this, 105 


A garland fresh and faire 


Did fetch a grievous groane, 


Of lillies there was made, 


As tho' his heart would burst in twaine, 


In sign of her virginitye, 


And thus he made his moane. 


And on her coffin laid. 


darke and dismal daye, 


Six maidens all in white, 125 


A daye of grief and care, 110 


Did beare her to the ground : 


That hath bereft the sun so bright, 


The bells did ring in solemn sort, 


Whose beams refresht the air. 


And made a dolefull sound. 


Now woe unto the world, 


In earth they laid her then, 130 


And all that, therein dwell, 


For hungry wormes a preye ; 


that I were with thee in heaven 115 


So shall the fairest face alive 


For here I live in hell. 


At length be brought to claye. 


. XI 


11. 


DUL( 


:ina. 


Given from two ancient copies, one in black-print, 


He demands what time for pleasure 


in the Pepys Collection, the other in the Editor's 


Can there be more fit than now : 


: folio MS. Each of these contained a stanza not 


She sayes, night gives love that leysure, 


found in the other. What seemed the best readings 


Which the day can not allow. 


were selected from both 


He sayes, the sight 25 


This song is quoted as very popular in" Walton's 


' Improves delight. 


Compleat Angler," chap. 2. It is more ancient than 


Which she denies : Nights mirkie noone 


the ballad of " Robin Good-Fellow" printed below, 


In Venus' playes 


which yet is supposed to have been written by Ben 


Makes bold, shee sayes ; 


Jonson. 


Forgoe me now, come to mee soone. 30 


As at noone Dulcina rested 


But what promise or profession 


In her sweete and shady bower, 


From his hands could purchase scope? 


Came a shepherd, and requested 


Who would sell the sweet possession 


In her lapp to sleepe an hour. 


Of suche beauty e for a hope ? 


But from her looke 5 


Or for the sight 35 


A wounde he tooke 


Of lingering night 


Soe deepe, that for a further boone 


Foregoe the present joyes of noone 1 


The nymph he prayes. 


Though ne'er soe faire 


Wherto shee sayes, 


Her speeches were, 


Forgoe me now, come to me socne. 10 


Forgoe me now, come to me soone. 40 


But in vajme shee did conjure him 


How, at last, agreed these lovers ? 


To depart her presence soe ; 


Shee was fayre, and he was young: 


Having a thousand tongues to allure him, 


The tongue may tell what th'eye discovers ; 


And but one to bid him goe : 


Joyes unseene are never sung. 


Where lipps invite, 15 


Did shee consent, 45 


And eyes delight, 


Or he relent ; 


And cheekes, as fresh as rose in June, 


Accepts he night, or grants shee noone ; 


Persuade delay; 


Left he her a mayd, 


What boots, she say, 


Or not ; she sayd 


Forgoe me now, come to me soone ? 20 


Forgoe me now, come to me soone. 50 



134 



THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY. 



XIV. 
THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY. 



This ballad is riven from an old black-letter copy- 
in the Pepya Collection, collated with another in the 
British Museum, II. 263. folio. It is there intitled. 
"The Lady Isabella's Tragedy, or the Step- Mother's 
Cruelty : being a relation of a lamentable and cruel 
murther, committed on the body of the Lady Isabella, 
the only daughter of a noble Duke, ccc. To the 
tune of, The Lady's Fall." To some copies are an- 
nexed eight more modern stanzas, intitled, " The 
Dutchess's and Cook's Lamentation." 

There was a lord of worthy fame, 

And a hunting he would ride, 
Attended by a noble trains 

Of gentrye by his side. 



And while he did in chase remaine, 
To see both sport and plays ; 

His ladye went, as she did feigne, 
Unto the church to praye. 

This lord he had a daughter dears, 
Whose beauty shone so bright, 

She was belov'd, both far and neare, 
Of many a lord and knight. 

Fair Isabslla was she call'd, 

A creature faire was shee ; 
Shs was her fathers only joye j 

As you shall after see. 

Therefore her cruel step-mother 

Did envye her so much, 
That daye by daye she sought her life, 

Her malice it was such. 

She bargain'd with the master-cook, 

To take her life awaye : 
And taking of her daughters book, 

She thus to her did saye. 



10 



15 



20 



Nowe, master-cook, it must be soe, 

Do that which I thee tell : 
You needes must drasse the milk-white doe, 

Which you do knowe full well. 

Then streight his cruell bloodye hands, 45 

He on the ladye layd ; 
Who quivering and shaking stands, 

While thus to her he sayd ; 

Thou art the dos that I must dresse j 

See here, behold my knife ; 50 

For it is pointed presently 

To ridd thee of thy life. 

then, cried out the scullion-boye, 
As ioud as loud might bee ; 

save her life, good master-cook, 55 
And make your pyes of mee ! 

For pityes sake do not destroys 

My ladye with your knife ; 
You know shee is her father's joye, 

For Christes sake save her life. 60 

1 will not save her life, he sayd, 

Nor make my pyes of thee ; 
Yet if thou dost this deed bewraye, 
Thy butcher 1 will bee. 

Now when this lord he did come home 65 

For to sit down and eat ; 
He called for his daughter deare, 

To come and carve his meat. 

Now sit you downe, his ladye sayd, 

O sit you downe to meat ; 7 j 

Into some nunnery she is gone ; 

Your daughter deare forget. 



Go home, sweet daughter, I thee praye, 25 

Go hasten presentlie ; 
And tell unto the master-cook 

These wordes that I tell thee. 

And bid him dresse to dinner streight 

That faire and milk-white doe, 30 

Thai in the parks doth shine bo bright, 
There's none so faire to showe. 

This ladye fearing of no li;irme, 

( they'd her mothers will ; 

And presentlye she basted home, .">.') 

Her pleasure to fulfill. 

She streight into the kitchen went, 

Her message for to tell ; 
And there she spied the master-cook, 

Who did with malice swell. 10 



Then solemnlye he made a vowe, 

Before the companie : 
That he would neither eat nor drinke, 

Until he did her see. 

O then bespake the scullion-boye, 
With a loud voice so hye ; 

If now you will your daughter see, 
My lord cut up that pye : 

Wherein her fleshe is minced small, 
And parched with the fire ; 

All caused by her step-mother, 
Who did her death desire. 



And cursed bee the master-cook, 

() cursed may he bee ! 
I proffered him my own heart's blood, 

From death to set her free, 



BO 



Go 



THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. 



235 



Then all in blacke this lord did mourne ; 

And for his daughters sake, 
He judged her cruell step-mother 

To be burnt at a stake. 



90 



Likewise he judg'd the master-cook 
In boiling lead to stand ; 

And made the simple scullion-boye 
The heire of all his land. 



95 



XV. 
A HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID. 



This song is a kind of Translation of a pretty poem 
of Tasso's, called Amove fuggitivo, generally printed 
with his "Aminta," and originally imitated from the 
first Idyllium of Moschus. 

It is extracted from Ben Jonson's Masque at the 
marriage of Lord Viscount Hadington, on Shrove- 
Tuesday 1608. One stanza, full of dry mythology, 
is here omitted, as it had been dropt in a copy of this 
song printed in a small volume called " Le Prince 
d'Araour. Lond. 1660," 8vo. 

Beauties, have yee seen a toy, 

Called Love, a little boy, 

Almost naked, wanton, blinde ; 

Cruel now, and then as kinde ? 

If he be amongst yee, say j 5 

He is Venus' run away. 



Shee, that will but now discover 
Where the winged wag doth hover, 
Shall to-night receive a kisse, 
How and where herselfe would wish 
But who brings him to his mother 
Shall have that kisse, and another. 



Markes he hath about him plentie ; 
You may know him among twentie : 
All his body is a fire, 
And his breath a flame entire : 
Which, being shot, like lightning, in, 
Wounds the heart, but not the skin. 

Wings he hath, which though yee clip, 

He will leape from lip to lip, 

Over liver, lights, and heart; 

Yet not stay in any part. 

And, if chance his arrow misses, 

He will shoot himselfe in kisses. 



10 



15 



20 



He doth beare a golden bow, 
And a quiver hanging low, 
Full of arrowes, which outbrave 
Dian's shafts; where, if he have 
Any head more sharpe than other, 
With that first he strikes his mother. 



Still the fairest are his fuell, 
When his daies are to be cruell ; 
Lovers hearts are all his food, 
And his baths their warmest bloud : 
Nought but wounds his hand doth season, 
And he hates none like to Reason. 



Trust him not : his words, though sweet, 

Seldome with his heart doe meet : 

All his practice is deceit ; 

Everie gift is but a bait : 

Not a kisse but poyson beares ; 

And most treason's in his teares. 



Idle minutes are his raigne ; 

Then the straggler makes his game, 

By presenting maids with toyes 

And would have yee thinke hem joyes ; 

'Tis the ambition of the elfe 

To have all childish as himselfe. 



If by these yee please to know him, 
Beauties, be not nice, but show him. 
Though yee had a will to hide him, 
Now, we hope, yee'] not abide him, 
Since yee heare this falser's play, 
And that he is Venus' run-away 



25 



30 



35 



40 



45 



50 



XVI. 
THE KING OF FRANCE'S .DAUGHTER. 



The story of this Ballad seems to be taken from 
an incidentin the domestic history of Charles the Bald, 
King of France. His daughter Judith was betrothed 
to Ethelwulph King of England: but before the 
marriage was consummated, Ethelwulph died, and 
she returned to France : whence she was carried off 
by Baldwyn, Forester of Flanders ; who, after many 
crosses and difficulties, at length obtained the king's 
consent to their marriage, and was made Earl of 



-See 



Flanders. This happened about A. D. 863.- 
Rapin, Henault, and the French Historians. 

The following copy is given from the Editor's an- 
cient folio MS. collated with another in black-letter 
in the Pepys Collection, intitled, " An excellent 
Ballad of a prince of England's courtship to the 
King of France's daughter, &c. To the tune of 
Crimson Velvet." 

Many breaches having been made in this old son?. 



436 THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. 


by the hand of time, principally (as might be ex- 


She heard one complayne 


65 


pected) in the quick returns of the rhin:e; an 


And lament the sorest, 




attempt is here made to repair them. 


Seeming all in payne, 




In the ilaves of old, 

When faire France did flourish, 


Shedding deadly teares. 
Farewell, my deare, quoth bee. 
Whom I must never see ; 


70 


Stones plaine have told, 


For why my life is att an end, 




Lovers felt annoye. 
The queene a daughter bare, 5 
Whom beautye's queene did nourish : 


Through villaines crueltye : 
For thy sweet sake 1 dye, 

To show 1 am a faithful] friend. 




She was lovelye faire, 


Flere I lye a bleeding, 

While my thoughts are feeding 

On the rarest beauty e found. 
O hard happ, that may be ! 
Little knowes my ladye 

My heartes blood lyes on the ground. 


75 


She was her fathers joye. 
A prince of England came, 
Whose deeds did merit fame, 10 

But. lie was exil'd, and outcast: 
Love his soul did fire, 
Shee granted his desire, 


80 


Their hearts in one were linked fast. 






Which when her father proved, 15 


With that a grone he sends 




Sorelye he was moved, 


Which did burst in sunder 




And tormented in his minde. 


All the tender bands 




He sought for to prevent them ; 


Of his gentle heart. 




And, to discontent them, 


She, who knewe his voice, 


85 


Fortune cross'd these lovers kinde. 20 


At his wordes did wonder ; 
All her former joyes 




W T hen these princes twaine 


Did to griefe convert. 




Were thus barr'd of pleasure, 


Strait she ran to see. 




Through the kinges disdaine, 


Who this man shold bee, 


90 


Which their joyes withstoode : 


That soe like her love did seeme : 




The lady soon prepar'd 25 


Her lovely lord she found 




Her Jewells and her treasure : 


Lye slaine upon the ground, 




Having no regard 


Smear'd with gore a ghastlye streame. 




For state and royall bloode ; 


W T hich his lady spying, 


95 


In homelye poore array 


Shrieking, fainting, crying, 




She went from court away, 30 


Her sorrows could not uttered bee : 




To meet her joye and hearts delight •, 


Fate, she cryed, too cruell : 




Who in a forrest great 


For thee — my dearest Jewell, 




Had taken up his seat, 


W r ould God-! that I had dyed for thee. 


100 


To wayt her coming in the night. 






But, lo ! what sudden danger 35 
To this princely stranger 

Chanced, as he sate alone ! 
By outlawes he was robbed, 
And with ponyards stabbed, 

Uttering many a dying grone. 40 


His pale lippes, alas ! 

Twentye times she kissed, 
And his face did wash 

With her trickling teares : 
Every gaping wound 

Tenderlye she pressed, 


105 


The princesse, arm'd by love, 

And by chaste desire, 
All the night did rove 


And did wipe it round 




With her golden haires. 




Speake, faire love, quoth shee, 




Without dread at all : 


Speake, faire prince, to mee, 


110 


Still unknowne she past 45 
In her strange attire ; 


One sweete word of comfort give : 




Lift up thy deare eyes, 




Coming at the last 
Within echoes call, — 


Listen to my cryes, 




Thinke in what sad griefe I live. 




You faire woods, quoth shee, 


All in vain she sued, 


115 


Honoured may you bee, 50 

Harbouring my hearts delight ; 
Which encompass here 


All in vain she wooed, 

The prince's life was fled and gone. 




There stood she still mourning, 




My joye and only deare, 

My trustye friend, and conielye knight. 


Till the suns retourning, 




And bright day was coming on 


120 


Sweete, 1 come unto thee, :'>.') 






Sweete, I come to woo thee ; 


In this great distresse 




That thou mayst not angry bee 


Weeping, wayling ever, 




For ni\ long delaying ; 


Oft. shee cryed, alas ! 




For tliy eurteoua staying 


What, will become of mee ? 




Soono amends lie make to thee. 60 


To my fathers court 
I returne will never : 


1 'J 5 


Passing thus alone 


But in lowlye sort 




Through, the silent forest, 


I will a servant bee. 




Many a grievous grone 


While thus she made her mone, 




Sounded in her ears i 


Weeping all alone 


130 



THE SWEET NEGLECT. 



237 



In this deepe and deadlyc feare : 
A for'ster all in greene, 
Most comely e to be seene, 

Ranging the woods did find her there. 
Moved with her sorrowe, 135 

Maid, quoth hee, good morrowe, 

What hard happ has brought thee here ? 
Harder happ did never 
Two kinde hearts dissever : 

Here lyes slaine my brother deare. 140 

Where may I remaine, 

Gentle for'ster, shew me, 
'Till I can obtaine 

A service in my neede 1 
Paines I will not spare : 145 

This kinde favour doe mee, 
It will ease my care ; 

Heaven shall be thy meede. 
The for'ster all amazed, 
On her beautye gazed, 150 

Till his heart was set on fire, 
[f, faire maid, quoth hee, 
You will goe with mee, 

You shall have your hearts desire. 
He brought her to his mother, 155 

And above ail other 

He sett forth this maidens praise. 
Long was his heart inflamed, 
At length her love he gained, 

And fortune crown'd his future dayes. 160 

Thus unknowne he wedde 

vVith a kings faire daughter : 
Children seven they had, 

Ere she told her birth. 
Which when once he knew, 165 

Humblye he besought her, 
He to the world might shew 

Her rank and princelye worth. 
He cloath'd his children then, 
(Not like other men) 170 

In partye-colours strange to see : 
The right side cloth of gold, 
The left side to behold, 

Of woollen cloth still framed hee *. 
Men thereatt did wonder ; 175 

Golden fame did thunder 



This strange deede in every place : 
The King of France came thither, 
It being pleasant weather, 

In those woods the hart to chase. 



The children then they bring, 

So their mother will'd it, ■ 
Where the royall king 

Must of force come bye : 
Their mothers riche array, 

Was of crimson velvet : 
Their fathers all of gray, 

Seemelye to the eye. 
Then this famous king, 
Noting every thing, 

Askt how be durst be so bold 
To let his wife soe weare, 
And decke his children there 

In costly robes of pearl and gold. 
The forrester replying, 
And the cause descrying *, 

To the king these words did say, 
Well may they, by their mother, 
Weare rich clothes with other, 

Being by birth a princesse gay. 



180 



185 



190 



195 



200 



205 



210 



The king aroused thus, 

More heedfullye beheld them, 
Till a crimson blush 

His remembrance crost. 
The more I fix my mind 

On thy wife and children, 
The more methinks I find 

The daughter which I lost. 
Falling on her knee, 
I am that child, quoth shee ; 

Pardon mee, my soveraine liege. 
The king perceiving this, 
His daughter deare did kiss, 

While joy full teares did stopp his speeche. 
With his traine he tourned, 215 

And with them sojourned. 

Strait he dubb'd her husband knight ; 
Then made him Erie of Flanders, 
And chiefe of his commanders : 

Thus were their sorrowes put to flight. 220 



XVII. 
THE SWEET NEGLECT. 



This little madrigal (extrated from Ben. Jonson's 
Silent Woman, act. 1. sc. 1. first acted in 1609.) is 
in imitation of a Latin poem printed at the end of 
the variorum Edit, of Petronius, beginning, " Semper 
munditias, semper Basilissa decoras &c." See Whal- 
ley's Ben. Jonson, vol. II. p. 420. 

* This will remind the reader of the livery and device of 
Charles Brandon, a private .gentleman, who married the 
Queen Dowager of France, sister of Henry VIII. At a 
tournament which he held at his wedding, the trappings of 
his horse were half cloth of gold, and half frieze, with the 
following motto : 

" Cloth of Gold, do not despise, 
Tho' thou art match with Cloth of Frize ; 
Cloth of Frize, be not too bold, 
Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Gold." 
See SirW. Temple's Misc. vol. III. p. 35G. 



Still to be neat, still to be drest, 

As you were going to a feast : 

Still to be poud'red, still perfum'd : 

Lady it is to be presum'd, 

Though art's hid causes are not found, 5 

All is not sweet, all is not sound. 

Give me a looke, give me a face, 

That makes simplicitie a grace ; 

Robes loosely flowing, haire as free : 

Such sweet neglect more taketh me, 10 

Than all th' adulteries of art, 

That strike mine eyes, but not my heart. 

* i. e. describing. See Gloss. 



«M 



THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD 



XVIH. 



THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. 



The subject of this very popular ballad (which 
has been set in so favourable a light by the Specta- 
tor, No. 85,) seems to be taken from an old play, 
entitled, " Two lamentable Tragedies ; the one of 
the murder of Maister Beech, a chandler in Thames- 
streete, Sec. The other of a young child murthered 
in a wood by two ruffins, with the consent of his 
unkle. By Rob. Yarrington, 1601, 4to." Our 
ballad-maker has strictly followed the play in the 
description of the father and mother's dying charge : 
in the uncle's promise to take care of their issue : 
his hiring two ruffians to destroy his ward, under 
pretence of sending him to school : their choosing 
a wood to perpetrate the murder in : one of the 
ruffians relenting, and a battle ensuing, &c In 
other respects he has departed from the play. In 
the latter the scene is laid in Padua : there is but 
one child : which is murdered by a sudden stab of 
the unrelenting ruffian : he is slain himself by his 
less bloody companion ; but ere he dies gives the 
other a mortal wound : the latter living just long 
enough to impeach the uncle ; who, in consequence 
of this impeachment, is arraigned and executed by 
the hand of justice, &c. Whoever compares the 
play with the ballad, will have no doubt but the 
former is the original : the language is far more ob- 
solete, and such a vein of simplicity runs through 
the whole performance, that, had the ballad been 
written first, there is no doubt but every circum- 
stance of it would have been received into the 
drama : whereas this w as probably built on some 
Italian novel. 

Printed from two ancient copies, one of them in 
black letter in the Pepys collection. Its title at 
large is, " The Children in the Wood : or, the Nor- 
folk Gentleman's Last Will and Testament : to the 
tune of Rogero, &c." 

Now ponder well, you parents deare, 

These wordes, which I shall write ; 
A doleful story you shall heare, 

In time brought forth to light. 
A gentleman of good account 5 

In Norfolke dwelt of late, 
Who did in honour far surmount 

Most men of his estate. 



Sore sicke he was, and like to dye, 

No helpe his life could save ; 
His wife by him as sicke did lye, 

And both possest one grave. 
No love between these two was lost, 

Each was to other kinde, 
In love they liv'd, in love they dyed, 

And left too babes behinde : 

The one a fine and pretty boy, 

Not passing three yeares olde ; 
The other a <_;ul more young than he, 
And fram'd in beaut ves niolde. 

The father left Ins little sen, 

As plainlye doth appeare, 
When lie to period age ahould come. 

Three hundred poundes B y ">'• 



10 



IS 



20 



And to his little daughter Jane 25 

Five hundred poundes in gold, 
To be paid downe on marriage-day, 

Which might not be controll'd : 
But if the children chance to dye, 

Ere they to age should come, 30 

Their uncle should possesse their wealth ; 

For so the wille did run. 

Now, brother, said the dying man, 

Look to my children deare ; 
Be good unto my boy and girl, 35 

N o friendes else have they here : 
To God and you I recommend 

My children deare this daye ; 
But little while be sure we have 

Within this world to staye. 40 

You must be father and mother both, 

And uncle all in one ; 
God knowes what will become of them, 

W T hen I am dead and gone. 
With that bespake their mother deare, 45 

O brother kinde, quoth shee, 
You are the man must bring our babes 

To wealth or miserie : 

And if you keep them carefully, 

Then God will you reward ; 5C 

But if you otherwise should deal, 

God will your deedes regard. 
With lippes as cold as any stone, 

They kist their children small : 
God bless you both, my children deare j 53 

With that the teares did fall. 

These speeches then their brother spake 

To this sicke couple there, 
The keeping of your little ones 

Sweet sister, do not feare : 60 

God never prosper me nor mine, 

Nor aught else that I have, 
If 1 do wrong your children deare, 

When you are layd in grave. 

The parents being dead and gone, 6* 

The children home he takes, 
And bringes them straite unto his house, 

\\ here much of them he makes. 
He had not kept these pretty babes 

A twelvemonth and a daye, 70 

But, for their wealth, he did devise 

To make them both awaye. 

He bargain'd with two ruffians strong, 

Which were of furious mood, 
That they should take these children your.g, 75 

And slave them in a wood. 
He told his wife an artful tale, 

He would the children send 
To be brought up in faire London, 

With one that was his friend. 00 



A LOVER OF LATE. 


239 


Away then went those pretty babes, 


Thus wandered these poor innocents, 




Rejoycing at that tide, 


Till deathe did end their griet, 




Rejoycing with a merry minde, 


In one anothers armes they dyed, 




They should on cock-horse ride. 


As wanting due relief: 




They prate and prattle pleasantly, 85 


No burial ' this' pretty ' pair' 


125 


As they rode on the waye, 


Of any man receives, 




To those that should their butchers be, 


Till Robin -red-breast piously 




And work their lives decaye : 


Did cover them with leaves. 




So that the pretty speeche they had, 


And now the heavy wrathe of God 




Made Murder's heart relent : 90 


Upon their uncle fell ; 




And they that undertooke tbe deed, 


Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house, 




Full sore did now repent. 


His conscience felt an hell : 




Yet one of them more hard of heart, 


His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum' 


1, 


Did vowe to do his charge, 


His landes were barren made, 




Because the wretch, that hired him, 95 


His cattle dyed within the field, 


135 


Had paid him very large. 


And nothing with him stayd, 




The other won't agree thereto, 


And in a voyage to Portugal 




So here they fall to strife ; 


Two of his sonnes did dye ; 




With one another they did fight, 


And to conclude, himself was brought 




About the childrens life : 100 


To want and miserye : 


140 


And he that was of mildest mood, 


He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land 




Did slaye the other there, 


Ere seven years came about. 




Within an unfrequented wood ; 


And now at length this wicked act 




The babes did quake for feare ! 


Did by this meanes come out : 




He took the children by the hand, 105 


The fellowe, that did take in hand 


145 


Teares standing in their eye, 


These children for to kill, 




And bad them straitwaye follow him, 


Was for a robbery judg'd to dye, 




And look they did not crye : 


Such was God's blessed will : 




And two long miles he ledd them on, 


Who did confess the very truth, 




While they for food complaine : 110 


As here hath been display 'd : 


150 


Staye here, quoth he, I'll bring you bread, 


Their uncle having dyed in gaol, 




When I come back againe. 


Where he for debt was layd. 




These pretty babes, with hand in hand, 


You that executors be made, 




Went wandering up and downe ; 


And overseers eke 




But never more could see the man 115 


Of children that be fatherless, 


155 


Approaching from the town : 


And infants mild and meek ; 


• 


Their prettye lippes with black-berries, 


Take you example by this thing, 




Were all besmear'd and dyed, 


And yield to each his right, 




And when they sawe the darksome night, 


Lest God with such like miserye 




They sat them downe and cryed. 120 


Your wicked minds requite. 




XI 


X. 




A LOVER 


OF LATE. 




Printed, with a few slight corrections, from the 


An' I were as faire as shee, 




Editor's folio MS. 


Or shee were as kind as I, 




A lover of late was I, 


What payre cold have made, as wee, 


15 


For Cupid would have it soe, 


Soe prettye a sympathye : 




The boy that hath never an eye, 
As every man doth know : 


I was as kind as shee was faire, 




But for all this wee cold not paire. 




I sighed and sobbed, and cryed, alas ! 5 
For her that laught, and called me ass. 


Paire with her that will for mee, 
With her I will never paire ; 


SO 


Then knew not I what to doe, 


That cunningly can be coy, 




When I saw itt was in vaine 


For being a little faire. 




A lady soe coy to wooe, 


The asse He leave to her disdaine ; 




Who gave me the asse soe plaine : 1 


And now I am myselfe againe. 




Yet would I her asse freelye bee, 

Soe shee would helpe, and beare with mee. 






Ver. 125, these, .babes, PP. V. 13, faine, MS. 



S40 



UK KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 



XX. 



THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 



It has been a favourite subject with our English 
ballad-makers to represent our kings conversing, 
either bv accident or design, with the meanest of 
their subjects. Of the former kind, besides this song 
of the King and the Miller, we have King Henry and 
the Soldier ; King James I. and the Tinker ; King 
William III. and the Forester, &c. Of the latter sort, 
are King Alfred and the Shepherd ; King Edward 
IV. and the Tanner ; King Henry VIII and the 
Cobler, &c. A few of the best of these are ad- 
mitted into this collection. Both the author of the 
following ballad, and others who have written on the 
same plan, seem to have copied a very ancient poem, 
intitled " John the Reeve," which is built on an ad- 
venture of the same kind, that happened between 
King Edward Longshanks and one of his Reeves or 
Bailiffs. This is a piece of great antiquity, being 
written before the time of Edward IV. and for its 
genuine humour, diverting incidents, and faithful 
picture of rustic manners, is infinitely superior to all 
that have been since written in imitation of it. The 
Editor has a copy in his ancient folio MS. but its 
length rendered it improper for this volume, it con- 
sisting of more than 900 lines. It contains also some 
corruptions, and the Editor chuses to defer its publi- 
cation, in hopes that some time or other he shall be 
able to remove them. 

The following is printed, with corrections, from 
the Editor's folio MS. collated with an old black- 
letter copy in the Pepys collection, intitled, "A plea- 
sant ballad of " King" Henry II. and the Miller of 
Mansfield, &c." 

PART THE FIRST. 

Henry, our royall king, would ride a hunting 
To the greene forest so pleasant and faire ; 

To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping : 
Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire : 

Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar'd 

For the game, in the same, with good regard. 6 

All a long summers day rode the king pleasantlye, 
With all his princes and nobles eche one ; 

Chasing the hart and hind, and the buck gallantlye, 
Till the dark evening forc'd all to turn home. 10 

Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite 

All his lords in the wood, late in the night. 

■A 

Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and downe, 

\\ n!i a rude miller he inett at the last ; 
Asking tlic ready way unto faire Nottingham; 15 

Sir, quoth the miller, I mesne not to jest, 
Yet I thinks, what I thinke, Booth for to say, 
You doe not lightlye ride out of your wa\. 

Why, what dost thou think of me, quoth our king 
merrily, 
Passing thy judgment upon me so briefe ! 20 

flood faith savd the in ll It r, 1 mean not to (latter thee, 

1 guess thee to bee but some gentleman thiefe ; 
Stand thee backe, in the darke ; light not sdowne, 
St that I presentlyo orack thy knaves crow ne. 24 



Thou dost abuse me much, quoth the king, savings 
I am a gentleman ; lodging I lacke. [thus ; 

Thou hast not quoth th' miller, one groat in thy purse ; 
All thy inheritance hangs on thy backe. 

• I have gold to discharge all that I call ; 

If it be forty pence I will pay all. SO 

If thou beest a true man, then quoth the miller, 
I sweare by my toll-dish, I'll lodge thee all night. 

Here's my hand, quoth the king, that was I ever. 
Nay, soft, quoth the miller, thou may'st be a sprite. 

Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will shake ; 35 

With none but honest men hands will I take. 



Thus they went all along unto the millers house : 
Where they were seething of puddings and souse: 

The miller first enter'd in, after him went the king ; 
Never came hee in soe smoakye a house. 40 

Now, quoth hee, let me see here what you are. 

Quoth the king, looke your fill, and doe not spare. 

I like well thy countenance, thou hast an honest face : 
With my son Richard this night thou shalt lye. 

Quoth his wife, by my troth, it is a handsome youth, 
Yet it's best, husband, to deal warilye, 46 

Art thou no run away, prythee, youth, tell ? 

Show me thy passport, and all shal be well. 

Then our king presentlye, making lowe courtesye, 
With his hatt in his hand, thus he did say ; 50 

I have no passport, nor never was servitor, 
But a poor courtyer, rode out of my way : 

And for your kindness here offered to mee, 

1 will requite you in everye degree, 



Then to the miller his wife whisper'd secretlye, 55 
Saying, It seemeth, this youth's of good kin, 

Both by his apparel, and eke by his manners ; 
To turne him out certainlye, were a great sin. 

Yea, quoth hee, you may see, he hath some grace 

When he doth speake to his betters in place. 60 



Well, quo' the millers wife, young man, ye're welcome 
And, though I say it, well lodged shall be : [here ; 

Fresh straw will I have, laid on thy bed so brave, 
And good brown hempen sheets likewise, quoth 
shee. 

Ave, quoth the good man ; and when that is done, 

Thou shalt lye with no worse than our own sonne. 

Nay, first, quoth Richard, good-fellowe, tell metrue, 
Hast thou noe creepers within thy gay hose? 

Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado ? 

I pray, quoth the king, what creatures are those? 

Art thou not lowsy, nor scabby ? quoth he: 71 

If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with mee. 



The king says this. 



THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 



241 



This caus'd the king, suddenlye, to laugh most 
heartily e, 

Till the teares trickled fast downe from his eyes. 
Then to their supper were they set orderlye, 75 

With hot bag-puddings, and good apple-pyes ; 
Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle, 
Which did about the board merrilye trowle. 

Here, quoth the miller, good fellowe, I drinke to 
thee, 

And to all ' cuckholds, wherever they bee,' 80 

I pledge thee, quoth our king, and thanke thee heart- 

For my good welcome in everye degree : [dye 
And here, in like manner, I drinke to thy sonne. 
Do then, quoth Richard, and quicke let it come. 

Wife, quoth the miller, fetch me forth lightfoote, 85 
And of his sweetnesse a little we'll taste, 

A fair ven'son pastye brought she out presentlye. 
Eate, quoth the miller, but, sir, make no waste. 

Here's dainty lightfoote 1 In faith, sayd the king, 

I never before eat so daintye a thing. 90 

I wis, quoth Richard, no daintye at all it is, 

For we doe eate of it everye day. 
In what place, sayd our king, may be bought like to 

We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay : [this ? 
From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here ; Vo 
Now and then we make bold with our kings deer. 

Then I thinke, sayd our king, that it is venison. 
Eche foole, quoth Richard, full well may know 
that: 
Never are wee without two or three in the roof, 

Very well fleshed, and excellent fat: 100 

But, prythee, say nothing wherever thou goe ; 
We would not, for two pence, the king should it 
knowe. 

Doubt not, then sayd the king, my promist secresye ; 

The king shall never know more on't for mee. 
A cupp of lambs- wool they dranke unto him then, 

And to their bedds they past presentlie. 106 

The nobles, next morning, went all up and down, 
For to seeke out the king in everye towne. 

At last, at the millers ' cott,' soone they espy'd him 
out, 
As he was mounting upon his faire steede ; 110 
To whom they came presently, falling down on their 
knee ; 
Which made the millers heart wofully bleede ; 
Shaking and quaking, before him he stood, 
Thinking he should have been hang'd, by the rood. 

The king perceiving him fearfully trembling, 115 
Drew forth his sword, but nothing he sed : 

The miller downe did fall, crying before them all, 
Doubting the king would have cut off his head. 

But he his kind courtesye for to requite, 

Gave him great living, and dubb'd him a knight.120 

PART THE SECONDE. 

When as our royall king came home from Notting- 
And with his nobles at Westminster lay ; [ham, 

Recounting the sports and pastimes they had taken, 
In this late progress along on the way ; 

Of them all, great and small, he did protest, 5 

The miller of Mansfield's sport liked him best. 

Ver. 80, courtnalls, that courteous be, MS. and P. 



And now, my lords, quoth the king, I am determined 
Against St. Georges next sumptuous feast, 

That this old miller, our new confirmed knight, 
With his son Richard, shall here be my guest : 10 

For, in this merryment, 'tis my desire 

To talke with the jolly knight, and the young squire. 

When as the noble lords sawthekinges pleasantness, 
They were right joyfull and glad in their hearts : 

A pursuivant there was sent straighte on the busi- 
ness, 15 
The which had often-times been in those parts. 

When he came to the place, where they did dwell, 

His message orderlye then 'gan he tell. 

God save your worshippe, then said the messenger, 
And grant your ladye her own hearts desire ; 20 

And to your sonne Richard good fortune and happi- 
ness ; 
That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire. 

Our king greets you well, and thus he doth say, 

You must come to the court on St. George's day ; 

Therfore, in any case, faile not to be in place. 25 
I wis, quoth the miller, this is an odd jest : 

What should we doe there ? faith, I am halfe afraid. 
I doubt, quoth Richard, to be hang'd at the least. 

Nay, quoth the messenger, you doe mistake ; 

Our king he provides a great feast for your sake. 30 

Then sayd the miller, By my troth, messenger, 
Thou hast contented my worshippe full well. 

Hold here are three farthings, to quite thy gentleness, 
For these happy ty dings, which thou dost tell. 

Let me see, hear thou mee ; tell to our king, 35 

We'll wayt on his mastershipp in everye thing. 

The pursuivant smiled at their simplicitye, 
And making many leggs, tooke their reward ; 

And his leave taking with great humilitye 

To the kings court againe he repair'd ; 40 

Shewing unto his grace, merry and free, 

The knightes most liberall gift and bountie. 

When he was gone away, thus gan the miller say, 
Here come expences and charges indeed ; [have ; 

Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend all we 
For of new garments we have great need : 46 

Of horses and serving-men we must have store, 

With bridles and saddles, and twentye things more. 

Tushe, Sir John, quoth his wife, why should you 
frett, or frowne 1 

You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee ; 50 
For 1 will turne and trim up my old russet gowne, 

With everye thing else as fine as may bee ; 
And on our mill-horses swift we will ride, 
With pillowes and pannells, as we shall provide. 

In this most statelye sort, rode they unto the court, 
Their jolly sonne Richard rode foremost of all ;56 

Who set up, for good hap, a cocks feather in his cap, 
And so they jetted downe to the kings hall ; 

The merry old miller with hands on his side ; 59 

His wife, like maid Marian, did mince at that tide. 

Ver. 57, for good hap: i. e. for good luck; they were 
going on an hazardous expedition. V. 60, Maid Marian in 
the Morris dance, was represented by a man in woman's 
clothes, who was to take short steps in order to sustain the 
female character. 



812 



TI1K SIII.IMIKIIDS RESOLUTION. 



The king and his nobles that heard of their coming, 
Meeting this gallant knight with hi> brave traine ; 

Welcome, bit knight, quoth he, with your gay ladj : 
Good Sir John Cockle, once welcome againe : 

And so is the squire of courage soe tree, 65 

Quoth Dicke, A bots on you ! do you know mee? 

Quoth our king genflye, how should I forget thee? 

That wast my owne bed-fellowe, well it I wot. 
Yea, sir, quoth Richard, and by the same token, 

Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot. 70 
Thou whore-son unhappy knave, then quoth the 

knight 
Speake cleanly to our king, or else go sh***. 

The king and his courtiers laugh at this heartily, 
While the king taketh them both by the hand ; 

With the court-dames, and maids, like to the queen 
of spades 75 

The millers wife did soe orderly stand. 

A milk-maids courtesye at every word ; 

And downe all the folkes were set to the board. 

There the king royally, in princely e majestye, 

Sate at his dinner with joy and delight ; 80 

When they had eaten well, then he to jesting fell, 
And in a bowle of wine dranke to the knight : 

Here's to you both, in wine, ale and beer ; 

Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer. 

Quoth Sir John Cockle, I'll pledge you a pottle, 85 
Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire : 

But then said our king, now I think of a thing ; 
Some of your lightfoote I would we had here. 

Ho ! ho ! quoth Richard, full well I may say it, 

'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it. 90 



Why art thou angry? quoth our king merrilye ; 

In faith, I take it now very unkind : 
I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine 
heartily. 

Quoth Dicke, You are like to stay till I have din'd : 
You feed us with twatling dishes soe small ; 95 

Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all. 

Aye, marry, quoth our king, that were a daintye thing, 
Could a man get but one here for to eate. [hose, 

With that Dicke straite arose, and pluckt one from his 
Which with heat of his breech gan to sweate. 100 

The king made a proffer to snatch it away : — 

'Tis meat for your master : good sir, you must stay. 

Thus in great merriment was the time wholly spent; 

And then the ladyes prepared to dance. 
Old Sir John Cockle, and Richard, incontinent 105 

Unto their places the king did advance. 
Here with the ladyes such sport they did make, 
The nobles with laughing did make their sides ake. 

Many thankes for their paines did the king give them, 
Asking young Richard then, if he would wed ; 1 10 

Among these ladyes free, tell me which liketh thee ? 
Quoth he Jugg Grumball, Sir, with the red head : 

She's my love, she's my life, her will I wed ; 

She hath sworn I shall have her maidenhead. 

Then Sir John Cockle the king call'd unto him, 115 
And of merry Sherwood made him o'er seer ; 

And gave him out of hand three hundred pound y early e : 
Take heed now you steal e no more of my deer : 

And once a quarter let's here have your view ; 

And now, Sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu. 1'20 



XXI. 
THE SHEPHERDS RESOLUTION. 



This beautiful old song was written by a poet, 
whose name would have been utterly forgotten, if 
it had not been preserved by Swift, as a term of con- 
tempt. " Dryden and Wither" are coupled by him 
like the " Bavius and Maevius" of Virgil. Dryden 
however has had justice done him by posterity : and 
as for Wither, though of subordinate merit, that he 
was not altogether devoid of genius, will be judged 
from the following stanzas. The truth is, Wither 
was B very voluminous party-writer : and as his 
political and satirical strokes rendered him extremely 
popular in his life-time : so afterwards, when these 
were no longer relished, they totally consigned his 
writings to oblivion. 

George Wither was born June 1 1 , 1588, and in 
his younger yean distinguished himself hy some 

pastoral pieces, that were DOt inelegant ; but grow- 
ing afterwards involved in the political and religious 

disputes in the tunes of .lames I. and Charles I. 
he employed bis poetical vein in severe pasquils on 
the court and clergy, and was occasionally a sufferer 
for the freedom of his pen. In the civil war thirt 
ensued, he exerted himself in the service of the 



Parliament, and became a considerable sharer in the 
spoils. He was even one of those provincial tyrants, 
whom Oliver distributed over the kingdom, under 
the name of Major Generals; and had the fleecing 
of the county of Surrey : but, surviving the Re- 
storation, he outlived both his power, and his afflu- 
ence ; and giving vent to his chagrin in libels on 
the court, was long a prisoner in Newgate and the 
Tower. He died at length on the 2d of May, 1607. 
During the whole course of his life, Wither was 
a continual publisher ; having generally for oppo- 
nent, Taylor the Water-poet. The long list of his 
productions may be seen in Wood's Athens Oxon. 
vol. II. His most popular satire is intitled " Abuses 
whipt and stript," 1613. His most poetical pieces 
were eclogues, intitled, " The Shepherd's Hunting," 
1615, 8vo. and others printed at the end of Browne's 

"Shepherd's ripe," Kill, 8vo. The following 
sonnet is extracted from a long pastoral piece of his, 
intitled, " The IMistresse of Philarete," 162*2, 8vo. 
which is said in the preface to be one of the Au- 
thor's first poems ; and may therefore be dated as 
early as any of the foregoing. 



QUEEN DIDO. 



243 



Shall I, wasting in dispaire, 
Dye because a woman's faire 1 
Or make pale my cheeks with care 
'Cause another's rosie are ? 
Be shee fairer then the day, 
Or the flowry meads in may ; 
If she be not so to me, 
What care I how faire shee be ? 

Shall my foolish heart be pin'd 

'Cause I see a woman kind ? 

Or a well-disposed nature 

Joyned with a lovely feature ? 

Be shee meeker, kinder, than 

The turtle-dove or pelican : 

If shee be not so to me, 

What care I how kind shee be ? 

Shall a woman's virtues move 
Me to perish for her love ? 
Or, her well-deservings knowne, 
Make me quite forget mine owne ? 



Be shee with that goodnesse blest, 

Which may merit name of Best ; 
If she be not such to me, 
What care I how good she be 1 

Cause her fortune seems too high, 25 

Shall I play the foole and dye 1 
Those that beare a noble minde, 
Where they want of riches find, 
Thinke what with them they would doe, 
That without them dare to woe ; 30 

And, unlesse that minde I see, 
What care I how great she be 1 

Great or good, or kind or faire, 
15 I will ne'er the more dispaire : 

If she love me, this beleeve ; S5 

I will die ere she shall grieve. 

If she slight me when I wooe, 

I can scorne and let her goe : 

If shee be not fit for me, 
20 What care I for whom she be 1 40 



XXII. 
QUEEN DIDO. 



Such is the title given in the Editor's folio MS. 
to this excellent old ballad, which, in the common 
printed copies, is inscribed, " Eneas wandering 
Prince of Troy." It is here given from that MS. col- 
lated with two different printed copies, both in 
black letter, in the Pepys collection. 

The reader will smile to observe with what 
natural and affecting simplicity, our ancient ballad- 
maker has engrafted a Gothic conclusion on the 
classic story of Virgil, from whom, however, it is 
probable he had it not. Nor can it be denied, but 
he has dealt out his poetical justice with a more 
impartial hand than that celebrated poet. 

When Troy towne had, for ten yeeres ' past,' 

Withstood the Greekes in manfull wise, 
Then did their foes encrease soe fast, 
That to resist none could suffice : 
Wast lye those walls, that were soe good, 5 

And come now growes where Troy towne stoode. 



^Eneas, wandering prince of Troy, 

When he for land long time had sought, 
At length arriving with great joy, 

To mighty Carthage walls was brought 
Where Dido queene, with sumptuous feast, 
Did entertaine that wandering guest. 



And, as in hall at meate they sate, 

The queene, desirous newes to heare, 
' Savs, of thy Troys unhappy fate' 
Declare to me thou Trojan deare : 
The heavy hap and chance soe bad, 
That thou, poore wandering prince, hast had. 

Ver. 1, 21, war, MS. and PP 



10 



15 



And then anon this comelye knight, 

With words demure, as he cold well, 
Of his unhappy ten yeares ' fight,' 
Soe true a tale began to tell, 
With words soe sweete, and sighs soe deepe, 
That oft he made them all to weepe. 



20 



25 



And then a thousand sighes he fet, 

And every sigh brought teares amaine ; 
That where he sate the place was wett, 

As though he had seene those warrs againe . 
Soe that the queene, with ruth therfore, 
Said, Worthy prince, enough, no more. 30 



And then the darksome night drew on, 

And twinkling starres the skye bespred ; 
When he his dolefull tale had done, 
And every one was layd in bedd : 
Where they full sweetly tooke their rest, 
Save only Dido's boyling brest. 



This silly woman never slept, 

But in her chamber, all alone, 
As one unhappye, alwayes wept, 

And to the walls shee made her mone ; 
That she shold still desire in vaine 
The thing, she never must obtaine. 

And thus in grieffe she spent the night, 

Till twinkling starres the skye were fled, 
And Phoebus, with his glistering light, 
Through misty cloudes appeared red ; 
Then tidings came to her anon, 
That all the Trojan shipps were gone. 



35 



40 



45 



ru 



THE WITCHES' SONG 



And then the queene with bloody knife 

Did arme her hart as hard as Mono, 50 

Vet, something loth to loose her life, 
In WOflfull Wise she made her inoiie ; 
And, rowling on her carefull bed, 
With sighea and sobbs, these words she sayd : 

O wretched Dido queene ! quoth shee, 55 

I see thv end approacheth neere; 

For bee is fled away from thee, 

Whom thou didst love and hold so deare : 
What is he gone, and passed by ? 
O hart, prepare thyselfe to dye. 60 

Though reason says, thou shouldst forbeare, 

And stay thy hand from bloudy stroke ; 
Yet fancy bids thee not to fear, 

Which fetter'd thee in Cupids yoke. 
Come death, quoth shee, resolve my smart ! — 65 
And with those words shee peerced her hart. 



When death had pierced the tender har 

Of Dido, Carthaginian queene ; 
Whose bloudy knife did end the smart, 
Which shee sustain'd in mournfull teene 
./Eneas being shipt and gone, 
Whose flattery caused all her mone j 



Her funerall most costly made, 

And all things finisht mournfullye ; 
Her body fine in mold was laid, 
Where itt consumed speedilye : 
Her sisters teares her tombe bestrewde ; 
Her subjects griefe their kindnesse shewed. 

Then was iEneas in an ile 

In Grecya, where he stayd long space, 
Whereas her sister in short while 
Writt to him to his vile disgrace ; 
In speeches bitter to his mind 
Shee told him plaine he was unkind. 

False-harted wretch, quoth shee, thou art 

And traiterouslye thou hast betraid 
Unto thy lure a gentle hart, 

Which unto thee much welcome made ; 
My sister deare, and Carthage' joy, 
Whose folly bred her deere annoy. 

Yett on her death-bed when shee lay, 
Shee prayd for thy prosperitye, 

Beseeching god, that every day 
Might breed thy great felicity e : 



70 



75 



80 



CO 



90 



Thus by thy meanes I lost a friend ; 
Heavens send thee such untimely end. 



95 



When he these lines, full fraught with gall, 

Perused had, and waved them right, 
His lofty courage then did fall ; 

And straight appeared in his sight 1( 

Queene Dido's ghost, both grim and pale : 
Which made this valliant souldier quaile. 

iEneas, quoth this ghastly ghost, 

My whole delight when I did live, 
Thee of all men 1 loved most ; 105 

My fancy and my will did give ; 
For entertainment I thee gave, 
Unthankefully thou didst me grave. 

Therfore prepare thy flitting soule 

To wander with me in the aire : U0 

Where deadlye griefe shall make it howle, 
Because of me thou tookst no care : 
Delay not time, thy glasse is run, 
Thy date is past, thy life is done. 

O stay a while, thou lovely sprite, 115 

Be not soe hasty to convay 
My soule into eternal! night, 

Where itt shall ne're behold bright day 
O doe not frowne ; thy angry looke 
Hath ' all my soule with horror shooke.' 120 

But, woe is me ! all is in vaine, 

And bootless is my dismall crye ; 
Time will not be recalled againe, 

Nor thou surcease before I dye. 

lett me live, and make amends 125 
To some of thy most dearest friends. 

But seeing thou obdurate art, 

And wilt no pittye on me show, 
Because from thee I did depart, 

And left unpaid what I did owe : 130 

1 must content myselfe to take 
What lott to me thou wilt partake. 

And thus, as one being in a trance, 

A multitude of uglye feinds 
About this woffull prince did dance, 135 

He had no helpe of any friends : 
His body then they tooke away, 
And no man knew his dying day. 



XXIII. 



THE WITCHES SONG. 



From Be* Jonson's Masque of Queens, pre- 
sented at \\ liitohall, Feb. 9, 1609. 

The Editor thought it incumbent on him to insert 
some old pieces on the popular superstition concern- 
ing witches, hobgoblins, lames, and ghosts. The 
last of these make their appearance is most of the 

tragical ballads; and in the following BOngfl will be 
found some description of the former. 



It is true, this song of the Witches, falling from 
the learned pen of Ben Jonson, is rather an extract 
from the various incantations of classical antiquity, 
than a display of the opinions of our own vulgar. 
Bui lot it be observed, that a parcel of learned wise- 
acres had just before busied themselves on this sub 

Yn. 120, MS. Hath made my breath my life forsook* 



ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW. 



245 



ject, in compliment to King James I. whose weak- 
ness on this head is well known : and these had so 
ransacked all writers, ancient and modern, and so 
Mended and kneaded together the several supersti- 
tions of different times and nations, that those of 
genuine English growth could no longer be traced 
out and distinguished. 

By good luck the whimsical belief of fairies and 
goblins could furnish no pretences for torturing our 
fellow-creatures, and therefore we have this handed 
down to us pure and unsophisticated. 

1 WITCH. 

I have been all day looking after 

A raven feeding upon a quarter : 

And, soone as she turn'd her beak to the south, 

I snatch'd this morsell out of her mouth. 

2 WITCH. 

I have beene gathering wolves haires, 5 

The madd dogges foames, and adders eares ; 
The spurging of a deadmans eyes : 
And all since the evening starre did rise. 



1 last night lay all alone 

O' the ground, to heare the mandrake grone; 10 

And pluckt him up, though he grew full low : 
And, as I had done, the cocke did crow. 

4 WITCH. 

And I ha' beene chusing out this scull 

From charnell houses that were full ; 

From private grots, and publike pits ; 15 

And frighted a sexton out of his wits. 



Under a cradle I did crepe 

By day ; and, when the childe was a-sleepe 

At night, I suck'd the breath ; and rose, 

And pluck 'd the nodding nurse by the nose. 20 



6 WITCH. 

I had a dagger : what did I with that? 

Killed an infant to have his fat. 

A piper it got at a church-ale. 

I bade him again blow wind i' the taile. 

7 WITCH. 

A murderer, yonder, was hung in chaines ; 
The sunne and the wind had shrunke his voines 
I bit off a sinew ; I clipp'd his haire ; 



25 



8 WITCH. 

The scrich-owles egges and the feathers blacke, 
The bloud of the frogge, and the bone in his backe 
I have been getting ; and made of his skin 3 1 

A purset, to keepe Sir Cranion in. 

9 WITCH. 

And I ha' beene plucking (plants among) 
Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue, 
Night-shade, moone-wort, libbards-bane ; So 

And twise by the dogges was like to be tane. 

10 WITCH. 

I from the jawes of a gardiner's bitch 

Did snatch these bones, and then leap'd the ditch : 

Yet went I back to the house againe, 

Kill'd the blacke cat, and here is the braine. 40 

11 WITCH. 

I went to the toad, breedes under the wall, 

I charmed him out, and he came at my call ; 

I scratch'd out the eyes of the owle before ; 

I tore the batts wing : what would you have more ? 



Yes : I have brought, to helpe your vows, 
Horned poppie, cypresse boughes, 

The fig-tree wild, that growes on tombes, 
A.nd juice, that from the larch-tree comes, 
The basiliskes bloud, and the vipers skin 
And now our orgies let's begin. 



45 



XXIV. 
ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW, 



alias Pucke, alias Hobgoblin, in the creed of 

ancient superstition, was a kind of merry sprite, 
whose character and achievements are recorded in 
this ballad, and in those well-known lines of Milton's 
L' Allegro, which the antiquarian Peck supposes to 
be owing to it : 

" Tells how the drudging Goblin swet 
To earn his creame-bowle duly set : 
When in one night, ere glimpse of mome, 
His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn 
That ten day-labourers could not end ; 
Then lies him down the lubber fiend, 
And stretch'd out all the chimneys length, 
Basks at the fire his hairy strength, 
And crop-full out of doors he flings, 
Ere the first cock his matins rings." 
The reader will observe that our simple ancestors 
had reduced all these whimsies to a kind of system, 
as regular, and perhaps more consistent, than many 
parts of classic mythology : a proof of the extensive 



influence and vast antiquity of these superstitions. 
Mankind, and especially the common people, could 
not every where have been so unanimously agreed 
concerning these arbitrary notions, if they had not 
prevailed among them for many ages. Indeed, a 
learned friend in Wales assures the Editor, that the 
existence of Fairies and Goblins is alluded to by the 
most ancient British Bards, who mention them 
under various names, one of the most common of 
which signifies " The spirits of the mountains." 
See also Preface to Song XXV. 

This song, which Peck attributes to Ben Jonson 
(though it is not found among his works) is chiefly 
printed from an ancient black-letter copy in the 
British Museum. It seems to have been originally 
intended for some Masque. 

This Ballad is intitled, in the old black-letter 
copies, " The merry Pranks of Robin Goodfellow 
To the tune of Dulcina/' &c. (See No. XIII 
above.) 



I : -^ 

2it3 ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW. 


From Oberon, in fairye land, 


When house or harth doth sluttish lye, 




The king of ghosts and ahadowea there, 


1 pinch the maidens black and blue ; 




Mad Robin I, at his command, 


The bed-clothes from the bedd pull I 




Am sent to viewe the night-sports here. 


And lay them naked all to view. 




What revell rout 5 


'Twixt sleepe and wake, 


65 


Is kept about, 


I do them take, 




In every corner where I go, 


And on the key-cold floor them throw. 




1 will o'ersee, 


If out they crv, 




And merry bee, 


Then forth I fly, 




And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho ! 10 


And loudly laugh out, ho, ho, ho ! 


70 


More swift than lightening can I flye 


When any need to borrowe ought, 




About this aery welkin soone, 


We lend them what they do require 




And, in a minutes space, descrye 


And for the use demand we nought ; 




Each thing that's done belowe the moone, 


Our owne is all we do desire. 




There's not a hag 15 


If to repay, 


75 


Or ghost shall wag, 


They do delay, 




Or cry, ware Goblins ! where I go ; 


Abroad amongst them then I go, 




But Robin I 


And night by night, 




Their feates will spy, 


I them affright 




And send them home, with ho, ho, ho ! 20 


With pinchings, dreames, and ho, ho, ho ! 


80 


Whene'er such wanderers I meete, 


When iazie queans have nought to do, 




As from their night-sports they trudge home ; 


But study how to cog and lye ; 




With counterfeiting voice I greete, 


To make debate and mischief too, 




And call them on, with me to roame 


'Twixt one another secretlye : 




Thro' woods, thro' lakes, 25 


I marke their gloze, 


85 


Thro' bogs, thro' brakes ; 


And it disclose, 




Or else, unseene, with them I go, 


To them whom they have wronged so , 




All in the nicke 


When I have done, 




To play some tricke 


I get me gone, 




And frolicke it, with ho, ho, ho ! 30 


And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho ! 


90 


Sometimes I meete them like a man ; 


When men do traps and engins set 




Sometimes, an ox, sometimes, a hound ; 


In loope holes, where the vermine creepe, 




And to a horse I turn me can ; 


Who from their foldes and houses, get 




To trip and trot about them round. 


Their duckes and geese, and lambes and sheepe : 


But if, to ride, 35 


I spy the gin, 


95 


My backe they stride, 


And enter in, 




More swift than winde away I go, 


And seeme a vermine taken so ; 




Ore hedge and lands. 


But when they there 




Thro' pools and ponds 


Approach me neare, 




I whirry, laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 40 


I leap out laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 


100 


When lads and lasses merry be, 


By wells and rills, in meadowes greene, 




With possets and with juncates fine ; 


We nightly dance our hey-day guise ; 




Unseene of all the company, 


And to our fairye king and queene 




I eat their cakes and sip their wine ; 


We chant our moon-light minstrelsies. 




And, to make sport, 45 


When larks gin sing, 


105 


I fart and snort ; 


Away we fling ; 




And out the candles I do blow : 


And babes new borne steal as we go, 




The maids I kiss ; 


And elfe in bed 




They shrieke — Who's this ? 


We leave instead, 




I answer nought, but ho, ho, ho ! 50 


And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 


110 


Yet now and then, the maids to please, 


From hag -bred Merlin's time have I 




At midnight I card up their wooll ; 


Thus nightly revell'd to and fro : 




And while they sleepe, and take their ease, 


And for my pranks men call me by 




With wheel to threads their flax 1 pull. 


The name of Robin Good-fellow. 




I j^rind at mill 55 


Fiends, ghosts, and sprites, 


115 


Their malt up still ; 


Who haunt the nightes, 




I dress their hemp, I spin their tow. 


The hags and goblins do me know ; 




If any 'wake, 


And beldames old 




And would me take, 


"Uv feates have told ; 




I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho? 60 


So Vale, Vale ; ho, ho, ho ! 


120 



THE FAIRIES FAREWELL. 



247 



XXV. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 



We have here a short display of the popular belief 
concerning Fairies. It will afford entertainment to a 
contemplative mind to trace these whimsical opinions 
up to their origin. Whoever considers, how early, 
how extensively, and how uniformly, they have pre- 
vailed in these nations, will not readily assent to the 
hypothesis of those who fetch them from the East so 
late as the time of ihe Croisades. Whereas it is well 
known that our Saxon ancestors, long before they 
left their German forests, believed the existence of a 
kind of diminutive demons, or middle species between 
men and spirits, whom they called Duergar or 
Dwarfs, and to whom they attributed many wonder- 
ful performances, far exceeding human art. Vid. 
Hervarer Saga Olaj Verelj. 1675. Hickes Thesaur. 
Sec. 

This Song is given (with some corrections by 
another copy) from a book intitled " The Mysteries 
of Love and Eloquence, &c." Lond. 1648. 8vo. 

Come, follow, follow me, 

You, fairy elves that be : 

Which circle on the greene, 

Come follow Mab your queene. 
Hand in hand let's dance around, 5 

For this place is fairy e ground. 

When mortals are at rest, 

And snoring in their nest ; 

Unheard, and unespy'd, 

Through key -holes we do glide ; 10 

Over tables, stools and shelves, 
We trip it with our fairy elves. 

And, if the house be foul 

With platter, dish, or bowl, 

Up stairs we nimbly,creep, \5 

And find the sluts asleep : 



There we pinch their armes and thighes ; 
None escapes, nor none espies. 

But if the house be swept, 

And from uncleanness kept, 20 

We praise the household maid, 

And duely she is paid : 
For we use before we goe 
To drop a tester in her shoe. 

Upon a mushroomes head 25 

Our table-cloth we spread ; 

A grain of rye, or wheat, 

Is manchet, which we eat ; 
Pearly drops of dew we drink 
In acorn cups fill'd to the brink. SO 

The brains of nightingales, 

With unctuous fat of snailes, 

Between two cockles stew'd, 

Is meat that's easily chew'd ; 
Tailes of wormes, and marrow of mice 35 

Do make a dish, that's wonderous nice. 

The grashopper, gnat, and fly, 

Serve for our minstrelsie ; 

Grace said, we dance a while, 

And so the time beguile : 40 

And if the moon doth hide her head, 
The gloe-worm lights us home to bed. 

On tops of dewie grasse 

So nimbly do we passe, 

The young and tender stalk 45 

Ne'er bends when we do walk : 
Yet in the morning may be seen 
Where we the night before have been. 



XXVI. 



THE FAIRIES FAREWELL. 



This humorous old song fell from the hand of the 
witty Dr. Corbet (afterwards Bishop of Norwich, 
&c.) and is printed from his Poctica Stromata, 1648, 
12mo. (compared with the third edition of his 
poems, 1672.) It is there called " A proper new 
Ballad, entitled, The Fairies Farewell, or God-a- 
mercy Will, to be sung or whistled to the tune of 
The Meddow Brow, by the learned ; by the un- 
learned, to the tune of Fortune." 

The departure of Fairies is here attributed to the 
abolition of monkery : Chaucer has, with equal hu- 
mour, assigned a cause the very reverse, in his 
* Wife of Bath's Tale." 

" In olde dayes of the King Artour, 

Of which that Bretons speken gret honour, 



All was this lond fulfilled of faerie ; 

The elf-quene, with hire joly compagnie 

Danced ful oft in many a grene mede. 

This was the old opinion as I rede ; 

I speke of many hundred yeres ago , 

But now can no man see non elves mo, 

For now the grete charitee and prayeres 

Of limitoures and other holy freres, 

That serchen every land and every streme, 

As thikke as motes in the sonne beme, 

Blissing halles, chambres, kichenes, and boures, 

Citees and burghes, castles high, and toures, 

Thropes and bernes, shepenes and dairies, 

This maketh that ther ben no faeries : 

For ther as wont to walken was an elf, 

Ther walketh now the limitour himself, 



218 



T1IK FAIRIES FAREWELL. 



In undermeles and in morweningeSi 

And savth his Matines and his holy thinges, 

As he goth in his liniitatioun. 

Women may now go safely up and doun, 

In every bush, and under every tree, 

Ther is non other incubus but he, 

And he ne will don hem no dishonour." 

Tyrwhitt's Chaucer, I. p. 255. 
Dr. Richard Corbet, having been bishop of Oxford 
about three years, and afterwards as long bishop of 
Norwich, died in 1635, a>tat b'2. 

Farewell rewards and Fairies ! 

Good housewives now may say ; 
For now foule sluts in dairies, 

Doe fare as well as they : 
And though they sweepe their hearths no less 

Than mayds were wont to doe, 6 

Yet who of late for cleaneliness 

Finds sixe-pence in her shoe ? 

Lament, lament old Abbies, 

The fairies lost command ; 1 

They did but change priests babies, 

But some have chang'd your land : 
And all your children stoln from thence 

Are now growne Puritanes, 
Who live as changelings ever since, 15 

For love of your demaines. 

At morning and at evening both 

You merry were and glad, 
So little care of sleepe and sloth, 

These prettie ladies had. 20 

When Tom came home from labour, 

Or Ciss to milking rose, 
Then merrily went their tabour, 

And nimbly went their toes. 

Witness those rings and roundelayes 25 

Of theirs, which yet remaine ; 
Were footed in Queene Maries dayes 

On many a grassy playne. 
But since of late Elizabeth 

And later James came in ; 30 

They never danc'd on any heath, 

As when the time hath bin. 

By which wee note the fairies 

Were of the old profession : 
Their songs were Ave Maries, 35 

Their dances were procession. 
But now, alas ! they all are dead, 

Or gone beyond the seas, 
Or farther for religion fled, 

Or else they take their ease. 40 

A tell-tale in their company 

They never could endure ; 
And whoso kept not secretly 

Their mirth, was punish'd sure : 
It was a just and Christian deed 45 

To pinch such blacke and blue : 
O how the common-welth doth need 

Such justices as you ! 

Now they have left our quarters ; 

A Register they have, 60 

Who <"in preserve their charters , 

A man both wise and gruvc. 



An hundred of their merry pranks 

By one that I could name 
Are kept in store ; con twenty thanks 5.' 

To William for the same. 

To William Churne of Staffordshire 

Give laud and praises due, 
Who every meale can mend your cheare 

With tales both old and true : 60 

To William all give audience, 

And pray yee for his noddle : 
For all the fairies evidence 

Were lost, if it were addle. 

* # * After these songs on the fairies, the reader 
may be curious to see the manner in which they 
were formerly invoked and bound to human service. 
In Ashmole's collection of MSS. at Oxford [Num. 
8259, 1406, 2,] are the papers of some Alchymist, 
which contain a variety of Incantations and Forms 
of Conjuring both Fairies, Witches, and Demons, 
principally, as it should seem, to assist him in his 
great work of transmuting metals. Most of them 
are too impious to be reprinted : but the two fol- 
lowing may be very innocently laughed at. 

Whoever looks into Ben Jonson's " Alchymist," 
will find that these impostors, among their other 
secrets, affected to "have a power over Fairies : and 
that they were commonly expected to be seen in a 
christal glass appears from that extraordinary book, 
" The Relation of Dr. John Dee's actions with 
Spirits, 1659," folio. 

" An excellent way to gett a Fayrie. (For myself 
I call Margarett Barrance ; but this will obteine 
any one that is not allready bownd.) 
" First, gett a broad square christall or Venice 
glasse, in length and breadth three inches. Then 
lay that glasse or christall in the bloud of a white 
henne, three Wednesdayes, or three Fridayes. Then 
take it out, and wash it with holy aq. and fumigate 
it. Then take three hazle sticks, or wands of an 
yeare groth : pill them fayre and white ; and make 
'them' soe longe, as you write the Spiritts name, 
or Fayries name, which you call, three times on 
every sticke being made flatt on one side. Then 
bury them under some hill, whereas you suppose 
Fayries haunt, the Wednesday before you call her : 
and the Friday followinge take them uppe, and call 
her at eight or three or ten of the clocke, which be 
good planetts and houres for that turne : but when 
you call, be in cleane life, and turne thy face towards 
the east. And when you have her, bind her to that 
stone or glasse." 

" An unguent to annoynt under the eyelids, and upon 
the eyelids eveninge and morninge : but especi- 
ally when you call ; or find your sight not per- 
fect. 

" R. A pint of sallet-oyle, and put it into a viall 
glasse : but first wash it with rose-water, and mary- 
gold- water : the flowers 'to' be gathered towards 
the east. Wash it till the oyle come white ; then 
put it into the glasse, ut supra : and then put thereto 
the budds of holyhooke, xlie flowers of marygold, 
the flowers or toppes of wild thime, the budds of 
young bazle i and the thime must be gathered neare 
the side of a hill where Fayries use to be : and 
'take' the grasse of a fayrie throne, there. All 
these put into the oyle, into the glasse : and set it 
to dissolve three dayes in the sunne, and then keep 
it for thy use ; ut supra." 



THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE. 



249 



After this receipt for the unguent follows a Form 
of Incantation, wherein the Alchymist conjures a 
Fairy, named Elahy Gathon, to appear to him in 
that chrystall glass, meekly and mildly ; to resolve 
him truly in all manner of questions ; and to be 
obedient to all his commands, under pain of damna- 
tion, &c. 

One of the vulgar opinions about Fairies is, that 
they cannot be seen b" human eyes, without a par- 



ticular charm exerted in favour of the person who 
is to see them : and that they strike with blindness 
such as, having the gift of seeing them, take notice 
of them mal a-propos. 

As for the hazle sticks mentioned above, they 
were to be probably of that species called the 
"Witch Hazle;" which received its name from 
this manner of applying it in incantations. 



THE END OF BOOK THE SECOND. 



SERIES THE THIRD. 
BOOK III. 

* I. 

THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE. 



The incidents in this, and the other ballad of " St. 
George and the Dragon," are chiefly taken from the 
old story-book of the Seven Champions of Christen- 
dome ; which, though now the plaything of chil- 
dren, was once in high repute. Bp. Hall, in his 
Satires, published in 1597, ranks 

" St. George's sorell, and his cross of blood," 
among the most popular stories of his time ; and an 
ingenious critic thinks that Spencer himself did not 
disdain to borrow hints from it * ; though I much 
doubt whether this popular romance were written 
so early as the Faery Queen. 

The author of this book of the Seven Champions 
was one Richard Johnson, who lived in the reigns 
of Elizabeth and James, as we collect from his other 
publications ; viz. — " The nine worthies of London : 
1592," 4to. — " The pleasant walks of Moor fields : 
1607," 4to. — " A crown garland of Goulden Roses, 
gathered, &c. 1612," 8vo.— " The life and death of 
Rob. Cecill, E. of Salisbury, 1612," 4to — " The 
Hist, of Tom of Lincoln," 4to. is also by R. J. who 
likewise reprinted " Don Flores of Greece," 4to. 

The Seven Champions, though written in a wild 
inflated style, contains some strong Gothic painting ; 
which seems for the most part, copied from the me- 
trical romances of former ages. At least the story 
of St. George and the fair Sabra is taken almost 
verbatim from the old poetical legend of " Sir Be vis 
of Hampton." 

This very antique poem was in great fame in 
Chaucer's time [see above pag. 220.], and is so con- 
tinued till the introduction of printing, when it ran 
through several editions, two of which are in black 
letter, 4to. " imprinted by Wyllyam Copland," with- 
out date ; containing great variations. 



* Mr. Wharton. Vid. Observations on the Fairy Queen, 
2 vol. 17G2, 12mo. passim. 



As a specimen of the poetic powers of this very 
old rhimist, and as a proof how closely the author of 
the Seven Champions has followed him, take a 
description of the "dragon slain by Sir Bevis. 

" Whan the dragon, that foule is, 

Had a syght of Syr Bevis, 

He cast up a loude cry, 

As it had thondred in the sky ; 

He turned his bely towarde the son , 

It was greater than any tonne : 

His scales was bryghter then the glas, 

And harder they were than any bras : 

Betwene his shulder and his tayle, ' 

Was forty fote withoute fayle. 

He waltred out of his denne, 

And Bevis pricked his stede then, 

And to hym a spere he thraste 

That all to shy vers he it braste : 

The dragon then gan Bevis assayle, 

And smote Syr Bevis with his tayle : 

Then downe went horse and man, 

And two rybbes of Bevis brused than. 

After a long fight, at length, as the dragon was 
preparing to fly, Sir Bevis 

" Hit him under the wynge, 

As he was in his flyenge, 

There he was tender without scale, 

And Bevis thought to be his bale. 

He smote after, as I you save, 

With his good sword Morglaye. 

Up to the hiltes Morglay yode 

Through harte, ly ver, bone, and bloude ; 

To the ground fell the dragon, 

Great joye Syr Bevis begon. 

Under the scales al on hight : 

He smote off his head forth right, 

And put it on a spere : &c." Sign K. iv. 



•30 



Tin. BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE. 



Sir Revis's dragon is evidently the parent of that 
in tin- Seven Champions, Bee Chap. III. viz. •• The 
dragon no sooner had a Bight of him [St. George] 
but he gave such a terrible peal, as though it had 
thundered in the elements. . . . Betwixt his shoul- 
ders and his tail were fifty feet in distance, his 
scales glistering as bright as silver, but far more 
hard than brass ; his belly of the colour of gold, but 
bigger than a tun. Thus weltered he from his den, 
<N:c. . . . The champion . . . gave the dragon such 
a thrust with his spear, that it shivered in a thou- 
sand pieces : whereat the furious dragon so fiercely 
smote him with his venomous tail, that down fell 
man and horse : in which fall two of St. George's 

ribs were so bruised, &c. At length St. 

George smote the dragon under the wing where it 
was tender without scale, whereby his good sword 
Ascalon with an easie passage went to the very hilt 
through both the dragon's heart, liver, bone, and 
blood. — Then St. George cut off the dragon's head, 
and pitcht it upon the truncheon of a spear, &c." 

The History of the Seven Champions, being 
written just before the decline of books of chivalry, 
was never, I believe, translated into any foreign 
language : but " Le Roman de Beuves of Hantonne" 
was published at Paris in 1502, 4to. Let. Gothique. 
The learned Selden tells us, that about the time of 
the Norman invasion was Bevis famous with the 
title of Earl of Southampton, whose residence was 
at Duncton in Wiltshire : but he observes, that 
the monkish enlargements of his story have made 
his very existence doubted. See Notes on Poly- 
Olbion, Song III. 

This hath also been the case of St. George him- 
self, whose martial history is allowed to be apocry- 
phal. But, to prove that there really existed an 
orthodox Saint of this name (although little or no- 
thing, it seems, is known of his genuine story) is 
the subject of " An Historical and Critical Inquiry 
into the Existence and Character of Saint George, 
&c. By the Rev. J. Milner, F.S.A. 1792, 8vo." 

The Equestrian Figure worn by the Knights o ? 
the Garter, has been understood to be an emblem of 
the Christian warrior, in his spiritual armour, van- 
quishing the old serpent. 

But on this subject the inquisitive reader may 
consult " A Dissertation on the Original of the 
Equestrian Figure of the George and of the Garter, 
ensigns of the most noble order of that name, lllus- 
trateu with copper-plates. By John Pettingal, 
A.M. Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries, London, 
1753," 4to. This learned and curious work the 
author of the Historical and Critical Inquiry would 
have done well to have seen. 

It cannot be denied, but that the following ballad 
is for the most part modern : for which reason it 
would have been thrown to the end of the volume, 
had not its subject procured it a place here. 

Listen, lords, in bower and hall, 

I sing the wonderous birth 
Of brave St. George, whose valorous arm 

Bid monsters from the earth : 



Distressed ladies to relieve 
He travell'd many n day ; 

In honour of the Christian faith, 
Which shall endure for aye. 



In Coventry sometime did dwell 

A knight of worthy fame, 10 

High steward of this noble realme ; 

Lord Albert was his name. 

He had to wife a princely dame, 

Whose beauty did excell. 
This virtuous lady, being with child, 15 

In sudden sadness fell : 

For thirty nights no sooner sleep 

Had clos'd her wakeful eves. 
But, lo ! a foul and fearful dream 

Her fancy would surprize : 20 

She dreamt a dragon fierce and fell 

Conceiv'd within her womb ; 
Whose mortal fangs her body rent 

Ere he to life could come. 

All woe-begone, and sad was she ; 25 

She nourisht constant woe : 
Yet strove to hide it from her lord, 

Lest he should sorrow know. 

In vain she strove ; her tender lord, 

Who watch'd her slightest look, ' 30 

Discover'd soon her secret pain, 
And soon that pain partook. 

And when to him the fearful cause 

She weeping did impart, 
With kindest speech he strove to heal 35 

The anguish of her heart. 

Be comforted, my lady dear, 

Those pearly drops refrain ; 
Betide me weal, betide me woe, 

I'll try to ease thy pain. 40 

And for this foul and fearful dream, 

That causeth all thy woe, 
Trust me I'll travel far away 

But I'll the meaning knowe. 

Then giving many a fond embrace, 45 

And shedding many a teare, 
To the weird lady of the woods, 

He purpos'd to repaire. 

To the weird lady of the woods, 

Full long and many a day, 50 

Thro' lonely shades and thickets rough 

He winds his weary way. 

At length he reach 'd a dreary dell 

With dismal yews o'erhung ; 
Wh^re cypress spred its mournful boughs, 55 

And pois'nous nightshade sprung. 

No cheerful gleams here pierc'd the gloom, 

lie bears no cheerful sound ; 
Bui shnll night-ravens' yelling scream, 

And serpents hissing round. 60 

The shriek of fiends and damned ghosts 

Ran bowling thro' his ear: 
A chilling horror froze his heart, 

Tho' all unus'd to fear 



THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE. 



251 



Three times he strives to win his way, 65 

And pierce those sickly dews : 
Three times to hear his trembling corse 

His knocking knees refuse. 

At length upon his beating breast 

He signs the holy crosse ; 70 

And, rouzing up his wonted might, 

He treads th' unhallow'd mosse. 

Beneath a pendant craggy cliff, 

All vaulted like a grave, 
And opening in the solid rock, 75 

He found the inchanted cave. 

An iron gate clos'd up the mouth, 

All hideous and forlorne ; 
And, fasten'd by a silver chain, 

JNI ear hung a brazed home. 80 

Then offering up a secret prayer, 

Three times he blowes amaine : 
Three times a deepe and hollow sound 

Did answer him againe. 

" Sir knight, thy lady beares a son, 85 

Who, like a dragon bright, 
Shall prove most dreadful to his foes, 

And terrible in fight. 

" His name advanc'd in future times 

On banners shall be worn : 90 

But lo ! thy lady's life must passe 

Before he can be born." 

All sore opprest with fear and doubt 

Long time Lord Albert stood ; 
At length he winds his doubtful way 95 

Back thro' the dreary wood. 

Eager to clasp his lovely dame 

Then fast he travels back : 
But when he reach'd his castle gate, 

His gate was hung with black. 100 

In every court and hall he found 

A sullen silence reigne ; 
Save where, amid the lonely towers, 

He heard her maidens 'plaine ; 

And bitterly lament and weep, 105 

With many a grievous grone : 
Then sore his bleeding heart misgave, 

His lady's life was gone. 

With faultering step he enters in, 

Yet half affraid to goe ; 110 

With trembling voice asks why they grieve, 

Yet fears the cause to knowe. 

" Three times the sun hath rose and set j" 

They said, then stopt to weep : 
" Since heaven hath laid thy lady deare 1 15 

In death's eternal sleep. 

"For, ah ! in travel sore she fell 

So sore that she must dye ; 
Unless some shrewd and cunning leech 

Could ease her presentlye. 120 



" But when a cunning leech was fet, 

Too soon declared he, 
She, or her babe must lose its life ; 

Both saved could not be, 

" Now take my life, thy lady said, 125 

My little infant save : 
And O commend me to my lord, 

When 1 am laid in grave. 

" tell him how that precious babe 

Cost him a tender wife : 130 

And teach my son to lisp her name, 

Who died to save his life. 

" Then calling still upon thy name, 

And praying still for thee ; 
Without repining or complaint, 135 

Her gentle soul did flee." 

What tongue can paint Lord Albret's woe, 

The bitter tears he shed, 
The bitter pangs that wrung his heart, 

To find his lady dead ? 140 

He beat his breast : he tore his hair ; 

And shedding many a tear, 
At length he askt to see his son j 

The son that cost so dear. 

New sorrowe seiz'd the damsells all : 145 

At length they faultering say : 
" Alas 1 my lord, how shall we tell ? 

Thy son is stoln away. 

" Fair as the sweetest flower of spring, 

Such was his infant mien : 150 

And on his little body stampt 

Three wonderous marks were seen : 

"A blood-red cross was on his arm ; 

A dragon on his breast : 
A little garter all of gold 155 

Was round his leg exprest. 

" Three carefull nurses we provide 

Our little lord to keep : 
One gave him sucke, one gave him food, 

And one did lull to sleep. 160 

" But lo ! all in the dead of night, 

We heard a fearful sound : 
Loud thunder clapt ; the castle shook , 

And lightning flasht around. 

" Dead with affright at first we lay ; 165 

But rousing up anon, 
We ran to see our little lord : 

Our little lord was gone! 

" But how or where we could not tell ; 

For lying on the ground, 170 

In deep and magic slumbers laid, 

The nurses there we found." 

O grief on grief ! Lord Albret said : 

No more his tongue cou'd say, 
When falling in a deadly swoone, 175 

Long time he lifeless lay. 



SSI BT, GEORGE AND THE DRAGON. 


At length restor'd to life and sense 


There up and downe he wandered far, 




lie nourisht endless woe, 


Clad in a palmer's gown : 


190 


No future joy his heart could taste, 


Till his brown locks grew white as wool, 




No future comfort know. 180 


His beard as thistle down. 




So withers on the mountain top 


At length, all wearied, down in death 




A fair and stately o;ik<>, 


He laid his reverend head. 




Whose vigorous arms are torne away 


Meantime amid the lonely wilds 


195 


liy some rude thunder-stroke. 


His little son was bred. 




At length his castle irksome grew, 185 


There the weird lady of the woods 




He loathes his wonted home ; 


Had borne him far away, 




His native country he forsakes, 


And train'd him up in feates of armes, 




In foreign lands to roame. 


And every martial play. 

* * 

• 


200 


... 

ir. 

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON. 




The following ballad is given (with some correc- 


No means there were, as they could hear, 




tions) from two ancient black-letter copies in the 


For to appease the dragon's rage, 




Pepys Collection : one of which is in 1 2mo, the 


But to present some virgin clear, 




other in folio. 


Whose blood his fury might asswage ; 


40 


Of Hector's deeds did Homer sing ; 
And of the sack of stately Troy, 


Each daye he would a maiden eat, 
For to allay his hunger great. 




'What griefs fair Helena did bring, 
Which was Sir Paris' only joy: 


This thing by art the wise-men found, 
Which truly must observed be ; 

Wherefore throughout the city round 
A virgin pure of good degree 




And by my pen I will recite 5 
St. George's deeds, an English knight. 


45 




Was by the king's commission still 
Taken up to serve the dragon's will. 




Against the Sarazens so rude 

Fought he full long and many a day ; 




Where many gyaunts he subdu'd, 


Thus did the dragon every day 




In honour of the Christian way • 10 


Untimely crop some virgin flowr, 


50 


And after many adventures past 


Till all the maids were worn away, 




To Egypt land he came at last. 


And none were left him to devour : 
Saving the king's fair daughter bright, 




Now, as the story plain doth tell, 


Her father's only heart's delight. 




Within that country there did rest 




A dreadful dragon fierce and fell, 15 


Then came the officers to the king 


55 


Whereby they were full sore opprest : 


That heavy message to declare, 




Who by his poisonous breath each day, 


W'hich did his heart with sorrow sting ; 




Did many of the city slay. 


She is, quoth he, my kingdom's heir : 
let us all be poisoned here, 




The grief whereof did grow so great 


Ere she should die, that is my dear. 


60 


Throughout the limits of the land, 30 






That they were wise men did intreat 


Then rose the people presently, 




To shew their cunning out of hand ; 


And to the king in rage they went ; 




What way they might this fiend destroy, 


They said his daughter dear should dye, 




That did the country thus annoy. 


The dragon's fury to prevent : 




Our daughters all are dead, quoth they, 


65 


The wise men all before the king 25 


And have been made the dragon's prey : 




Tins answer Eram'd incontinent ; 






1 In- dragon none to death might bring 


And by their blood we rescued were, 




By any means tliey could invent : 
His skin more hard t lan lira s was found, 


And thou hast sav'd thy life thereby; 




And now in sooth it is but fair, 




'I hat iword nor spear could pierce nor wound. 


For us thv daughter so sould die. 


70 


() save my daughter said the king ; 




When this the people understood, 31 


And let MS feel the dragon's sting. 




They oxyed out most piteouslye, 






The dragon's hreath infects their blood, 


Then fell fair Sahra on her knee, 




That everve dav iu heaps they dve: 


And to her father dear did say, 




Among them such a plague it bred, 95 


O lather, strive not thus for me, 


75 


The living scarce could bury the dead. 


But let me bo the dragon's prey ; 





ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON. 



253 



It may be for my sake alone 

This plague upon the land was thrown. 

'Tis better I should dye, she said, 
Than all your subjects perish quite ; 

Perhaps the dragon here was laid, 
For my offence to work his spite : 

And after he hath suckt my gore, 

Your land shall feel the grief no more. 



80 



8.3 



What hast thou done, my daughter dear 
For to deserve this heavy scourge ? 

It is my fault, as may appear, 

Which makes the gods our state to purge ; 

Then ought I die, to stint the strife, 

And to preserve thy happy life. 90 

Like mad-men, all the people cried, 

Thy death to us can do no good ; 
Our safety only doth abide 

In making her the dragon's food. 
Lo ! here I am, I come, quoth she, 95 

Therefore do what you will with me. 

Nay stay, dear daughter, quoth the queen, 

And as thou art a virgin bright, 
That hast for vertue famous been, 

So let me cloatb thee all in white ; 100 

And crown thy head with flowers sweet, 
An ornament for virgins meet. 

And when she was attired so, 

According to her mother's mind, 
Unto the stake then did she go ; 105 

To which her tender limbs they bind : 
And being bound to stake a thrall, 
She bade farewell unto them all. 

Farewell, my father dear, quoth she, 

And my sweet mother meek and mild ; 110 

Take you no thought nor weep for me, 
For you may have another child : 

Since for my country's good I dye, 

Death I receive most willinglye. 

The king and queen and all their train 115 

With weeping eyes went then their way 

And let their daughter there remain, 
To be the hungry dragon's prey : 

But as she did there weeping lye, 

Behold St. George came riding by. 120 

And seeing there a lady bright 

So rudely tyed unto a stake, 
As well became a valiant knight, 

He straight to her his way did take : 
Tell me, sweet maiden, then quoth he, 1 25 

What caitif thus abuseth thee 1 

And, lo ! by Christ his cross I vow, 
Which here is figured on my breast, 

I will revenge it on his brow, 

And break my lance upon his chest : 130 

And speaking thus whereas he stood, 

The dragon issued from the wood. 

The lady that did first espy 

The dreadful dragon coming so, 
Unto St. George aloud did cry. 135 

And willed him away to go ; 



Here comes that cursed fiend quoth she, 
That soon will make an end of me. 

St. George then looking round about, 
The fiery dragon soon espy'd, 

And like a knight of courage stout, 
Against him did most fiercely ride ; 

And with such blows he did him greet, 

He fell beneath his horse's feet. 



140 



145 



For with his launce that was so strong, 

As he came gaping in his face, 
In at his mouth he thrust along ; 

For he could pierce no other place : 
And thus within the lady's view 
This mighty dragon straight he slew. 150 

The savour of his poisoned breath 
Could do this holy knight no harm. 

Thus he the lady sav'd from death, 
And home he led her by the arm ; 

Which when King Ptolemy did see, 155 

There was great mirth and melody. 

When as that valiant champion there 
Had slain the dragon in the field, 

To court he brought the lady fair, 

Which to their hearts much joy did yield. 1 60 

He in the court of Egypt staid 

Till he most falsely was betray 'd. 

That lady dearly lov'd the knight, 

He counted her his only joy ; 165 

But when their love was brought to light, 

It turn'd unto their great annoy : 
Th' Morocco king was in the court, 
Who to the orchard did resort, 

Dayly to take the pleasant air, 170 

For pleasure sake he us'd to walk, 

Under a wall he oft did hear 

St. George with Lady Sabra talk : 

Their love he shew'd unto the king, 

Which to St. George great woe did bring. 175 



Those kings together did devise 

To make the Christian knight away, 

With letters him in curteous wise 
They straightway sent to Persia : 

But wrote to the sophy him to kill, 

And treacherously his blood to spill. 



180 



185 



Thus they for good did him reward 
With evil, and most subtilly 

By such vile meanes they had regard 
To work his death most cruelly ; 

Who, as through Persia land he rode, 

With zeal destroy 'd each idol god. 



For which offence he straight was thrown 

Into a dungeon dark and deep ; 
Where, when he thought his wrongs upon, 190 

He bitterly did wail and weep : 
Yet like a knight of courage stout, 
At length his way he digged out. 



Three grooms of the King of Persia 
By night this valiant champion slew, 

Though he had fasted many a day ; 
And then away from thence he flew 



195 



854 





L(>\ i: WILL FIND OUT THE WAY. 



On the best steed the BOphy had ; 
Which when he knew he was full mad. 

Towards Christendom he made his flight, 200 

But met a gvant by the way, 
With whom in combat he did tight 

Most valiantly a summer's day : 
Who yet, for all his bats of steel, 
Was forc'd the sting of death to feel. 805 

Back o'er the seas with many bands 
Of warlike souldiers soon he past, 

Vowing upon those heathen lands 
To work revenge ; which at the last, 

Ere thrice three years were gone and spent, 2 1 

He wrought unto his heart's content. 



Save onely Egypt land he spar'd 
For Sabra bright her only sake, 

And, ere for her he had regard, 
He meant a tryal kind to make : 

Mean while the king, o'ercome in field, 

Unto saint George did quickly yield. 



Then straight Morocco's king he slew, 
And took fair Sabra to his wife, 

But meant to try if she were true 
Ere with her he would lead his life ; 

And, tho' he had her m his train, 

She did a virgin pure remain 

Toward England then that lovely dame 
The brave St. George conducted strait, 

An eunuch also with them came, 
Who did upon the lady wait ; 

These three from Egypt went alone. 

Now mark St. George's valour shown. 

When as they in a forest were, 

The lady did desire to rest : 
Mean while St. George to kill a deer, 

For their repast did think it best : 



215 



220 



225 



230 



Leaving her with the eunuch there, 

Whilst he did go to kill the deer. 235 



But lo ! all in his absence came 
Two hungry lyons fierce and fell, 

And tore the eunuch on the same 
In pieces small, the truth to tell ; 

Down by the lady then they laid, 2-10 

Whereby they shew'd, she was a maid. 



But when he came from hunting back, 
And did behold this heavy chance, 

Then for his lovely virgin's sake 

His courage strait he did advance, 245 

And came into the lions sight, 

Who ran at him with all their might. 



Their rage did him no whit dismay. 
Who, like a stout and valiant knight, 

Did both the hungry lyons slay 2.50 

Within the Lady Sabra's sight : 

Who all this while sad and demure, 

There stood most like a virgin pure. 



Now when St. George did surely know 

This lady was a virgin true, 253 

His heart was glad, that erst was woe, 
And all his love did soon renew : 

He set her on a palfrey steed, 

And towards England came with speed. 



Where being in short space arriv'd 260 

Unto his native dwelling place ; 
Therein with his dear love he liv'd, 

And fortune did his nuptials grace : 
They many years of joy did see, 
And led their lives at Coventry. 265 



in. 



LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY. 



This excellent song is ancient : but we could only 
give it from a modern copy. 

Ovr.n the mountains, 

And over the waves ; 
Under the fountains, 

And under the graves; 
Under floods that are deepest, 5 

Which Neptune obey ; 
Over rocks that are steepest, 

Love will find out the way. 



Where there is no place 
For the glow-worm to lye 

Where there is no space 
For receipt of a fly ; 



10 



Where the midge dares not venture, 

Lest herself fast she lay ; 
If love come, he will enter, 15 

And soon find out his way. 

You may esteem him 

A child for his might ; 
Or you may deem him 

A coward from his flight : 20 

But if she, whom love doth honour, 

Be conceal'd from the day, 
Set a thousand guards upon her, 

Love will find out the way. 

Some think to lose him, 25 

By having him confin'd } 
And some do suppose him, 

Poor thing, to be blind ; 



LORD THOMAS AND 


FAIR ANNET. 


255 


But if ne'er so close ye wall him, 




Or you may inveigle 


35 


Do the best that you may, 30 




The phenix of the east ; 




Blind love, if so ye call him, 




The lioness, ye may move her 




Will find out his way. 




To give o'er her prey ; 
But you'll ne'er stop a lover 




You may train the eagle 




He will find out his way. 


40 


To stoop to your fist ; 




* * 
* 




IV. 






LORD THOMAS AND 


FAIR ANNET, 




A SCOTTISH 


BALLAD, 




seems to be composed (not without improve- 




Ise rede ye tak fair Annet, Thomas, 




ments) out of two ancient English ones, printed in 




And let the browne bride alane ; 




the former part of this volume. See book I. ballad 




Lest ye sould sigh and say, Alace ! 




XV. and book II. ballad IV. — If this had been the 




What is this we brought hame 1 


40 


original, the authors of those two ballads would 








hardly have adopted two such different stories: be- 




No, I will tak my mithers, counsel, 




sides, this contains enlargements not to be found in 




And marrie me owt o' hand ; 




either of the others. It is given, with some correc- 




And I will tak the nut-browne bride ; 




tions, from a MS. copy transmitted from Scotland. 




Fair Annet may leive the land. 




Lord Thomas and fair Annet 




Up then rose fair Annets father 


45 


Sate a' day on a hill ; 




Twa hours or it wer day, 




Whan night was cum, and sun was sett, 




And he is gane into the bower, 




They had not talkt their fill. 




Wherein fair Annet lay. 




Lord Thomas said a word in jest, 5 




Rise up, rise up, fair Annet, he says, 




Fair Annet took it ill : 




Put on your silken sheene ; 


50 


A' ! I will nevir wed a wife 




Let us gae to St. Maries kirke, 




Against my ain friends will. 




And see that rich weddeen. 




Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife, 




My maides, gae to my dressing-roome, 




A wife wull neir wed yee. 10 




And dress to me my hair ; 




Sae he is hame to tell his mither, 




W T hair-eir yee laid a plait before, 


55 


And knelt upon his knee : 




See yee lay ten times mair. 




rede, rede, mither, he says, 




My maids, gae to my dressing-room, 




A gude rede gie to mee : 




And dress to me my smock ; 




sail I tak the nut-browne bride, 15 




The one half is o' the holland fine, 




And let faire Annet bee 1 




The other o' needle-work. 


60 


The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear, 




The horse fair Annet rade upon 




Fair Annet she has gat nane ; 




He amblit like the wind, 




And the little beauty fair Annet has, 




Wi' siller he was shod before, 




it wull soon be gane ! 20 




W' burning gowd behind. 




And he has till his brother gane : 




Four and twantye siller bells 


65 


Now, brother, rede ye mee ; 




Wer a' tyed till his mane, 




A' sail I marrie the nut-browne bride, 




And yae tift o' the norland wind, 




And let fair Annet bee 1 




They tinkled ane by ane. 




The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother, 25 




Four and twantye gay gude knichts 




The nut-browne bride has kye ; 




Rade by fair Annets side, 


70 


I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride, 




And four and twanty fair ladies, 




And cast fair Annet bye. 




As gin she had bin a bride. 




Her oxen may dye i' the house, Billie, 30 




And whan she cam to Maries kirk, 




And her kye into the byre ; 




She sat on Maries stean : 




And I sail hae nothing to my sell, 




The cleading that fair Annet had on 


75 


Bot a fat fadge by the fyre. 




It skinkled in their een. 




And he has till his sister gane : 




And whan she cam into the kirk, 




Now, sister, rede ye mee ; 




She shimmer'd like the sun ; 




sail I marrie the nut-browne bride, 35 




The belt that was about her waist, 




And set fair Annet free ? 




Was a' wi' pearles bedone. 


80 



*.s., 



GKOROK MRNWl'.i t. 



She sat her by the nut-browne bride. 
Ami bt>r een thev wcr sae cli-ar. 

Lord Thomaa be clean forget the bride, 
Whan fair Aniitt she drew near. 

lie bad a rose into bis hand, 85 

And be gave it kisses three. 
And reaching by the nut-browne bride. 

Laid it cm fair Annets knee. 

Up than spak tbe nut-browne bride, 

She spak wi' meikle spite ; 90 

And whair gat ve that rose-water, 

Tbat does mak yee sae wbite 1 

O I did get tbe rose-water 

Whair ve wull neir get nane, 
For I did get that very rose-wa":er 95 

Into my mithers wame. 

The bride she drew a long bodkin, 

Frae out her gay head-gear, 
And strake fair Annet unto the heart, 

That word she nevir spak rnair. 100 



Lord Thomas he saw fair Annet wex pale, 

Aud marveiit what mote bee : 
But whan lie saw her dear hearts blude, 

A' wood-wroth wexed hee. 

He drew his dagger, that was sae sharp, 105 

That was sae sharp and meet, 
And drave into the nut-browne bride, 

That fell deid at his feit. 



Now stay for me, dear Annet, he sed. 
Now stay, my dear, he crv'd ; 

Then strake the dagger untill his heart, 
And fell deid by her side. 



110 



Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa, 

Fair Annet within the quiere ; 
And o' the tane thair grew a birk, 115 

The other a bonny briere. 

And ay they grew, and ay they threw, 

As they wad faine be neare ; 
And by tins ye may ken right weil, 

They were twa luvers deare. 1 20 



UNFADING BEAUTY. 



This little beautiful sonnet is reprinted from a 
small volume of " Poems by Thomas Carew, Esq. 
one of the gentlemen of the privie-chamber, and 
sewer in ordinary to his majesty (Charles I.) Lond. 
16-10." This elegant and almost- forgotten writer, 
whose poems have been deservedly revived, died, in 
the prime of his age, in 1639. 

In the original follows a third stanza ; which, not 
being of general application, nor of equal merit, I 
have ventured to omit. 

Hee, that loves a rosie cheeke, 
Or a corall lip admires, 



Or from star-like eyes doth seeke 

Fuell to maintaine his fires, 
As old time makes these decay, 
So his flames must waste aw a v. 

But a smooth and stedfast mind, 

Gentle thoughts, and calme desires, 

Hearts with equal love combin'd, 
Kindle never-dying fires: 

Where these are not, I despise 

Lovely cheekes, or lips, or eyes. 



in 



VI. 



GEORGE DARN WELL. 



The subject of this ballad is sufficiently popular 
from the modern play which is founded upon it. 
'I In-, was written hv George l.illo, a jeweller of 

London! and tirst acted about L730. — As for the 

ballad, it was printed at least as early as the middle 
of the last century. 

It is here given from three old printed copies, 
which exhibit a Strange intermixture of Roman and 

black letter. It is also collated with another copy m 

the Ashinole Collection at Oxford, which is thus 
intitled, " An excellent ballad of GeOTgC I'arnweil, 
BQ apprentice of London, who ..thrice robbed bis 



master and murdered his vncle in Ludlow." The 
lime is " Tbe Merchant." 

This tragical narrative seems to relate a real fact ; 
but w hen it happened 1 have not been able to dis- 
cover. 

HIE FIItST TART. 

Am. youth of fair England 

That dwell both far and near, 
Regard my story that I tell, 

And to my song give ear. 



GEORGE BARNWELL. 



£57 



A London lad I was, 

A merchant's prentice bound ; 
My name George Barnwell ; that did 

My master many a pound. 



Take heed of harlots then, 

And their enticing trains ; 10 

For by that means I have been brought 

To hang alive in chains. 

As I, upon a day, 

Was walking through the street 
About my master's business, 15 

A wanton I did meet. 

A gallant dainty dame, 

And sumptuous in attire ; 
With smiling look she greeted me, 

And did my name require. 20 

Which when I had declar'd, 

She gave me then a kiss, 
And said, if I would come to her, 

I should have more than this. 

Fair mistress, then quoth I, 25 

If I the place may know, 
This evening I will be with you, 

For I abroad must go. 

To gather monies in, 

That are my master's due : 30 

And ere that I do home return 

I'll come and visit you. 

Good Barnwell, then quoth she. 

Do thou to Shoreditch come, 
And ask for Mrs. Millwood's house, 3b 

Next door unto the Gun. 

And trust me on my truth, 

If thou keep touch with me, 
My dearest friend, as my own heart 

Thou shalt right welcome be. 40 

Thus parted we in peace, 

And home I passed right ; 
Then went abroad, and gathered in, 

B} r six o'clock at night, 

An hundred pound and one : 45 

With bag under my arm 
I went to Mrs. Millwood's house, 

And thought on little harm ; 

And knocking at the door, 

Straightway herself came down ; 50 

Rustling in most brave attire, 

With hood and silken gown. 

Who, through her beauty bright, 

So gloriously did shine, 
That she amaz'd my dazzling eyes, 55 

She seemed so divine. 

She took me by the hand, 

And with a modest grace 
Welcome, sweet Barnwell, then quoth she, 

Unto this homely place. 60 



And since I have thee found 

As good as thy word to be : 
A homely supper, ere we part, 

Thou shalt take here with me. 

O pardon me, quoth I, 65 

Fair mistress, I you pray ; 
For why, out of my master's house, 

So long I dare not stay. 

Alas, good sir, she said, 

Are you so strictly ty'd, 70 

You may not with your dearest friend 

One hour or two abide 1 

Faith, then the case is hard ; 

If it be so, quoth she, 
I would I were a prentice bound, 75 

To live along with thee : 

Therefore, my dearest George, 

List well what I shall say, 
And do not blame a woman much, 

Her fancy to bewray. 80 

Let not affection's force 

Be counted lewd desire ; 
Nor think it not immodesty, 

I should thy love require. 

With that she turn'd aside, 85 

And with a blushing red, 
A mournful motion she bewray'd 

By hanging down her head. 

A handkerchief she had 

All wrought with silk and gold : 90 

Which she to stay her trickling tears 

Before her eyes did hold. 

This thing unto my sight 

Was wondrous rare and strange ; 
And in my soul and inward thought 95 

It wrought a sudden change : 

That I so hardy grew, 

To take her by the hand : 
Saying, Sweet mistress, why do you 

So dull and pensive standi 100 

Call me no mistress now, 

But Sarah, thy true friend, 
Thy servant, Millwood, honouring thee, 

Until her life hath end. 

If thou wouldst here alledge, 105 

Thou art in years a boy ; 
So was Adonis, yet was he 

Fair Venus' only joy. 

Thus I, who ne'er before 

Of woman found such grace, 1 10 

But seeing now so fair a dame 

Give me a kind embrace, 

I supt with her that night, 

With joys that did abound ; 
And for the same paid presently, 115 

In money twice three pound, : 






GEORGE BARNWELL. 



An hundred kisses then, 
For mv farewel she ;:;ivc ; 

Crying, Sweet Barnwell, when shall I 
Again thy company have I 120 

stay not hence too 1 

Bweel George, hare me in mind. 
Her words bewioht my childishness, 

She uttered them so kind ; 

So that I made a vow, 125 

Next Sunday without fail, 
With my sweet Sarah once again 

To tell some pleasant ta'le. 

When she heard me say so, 

The tears fell from her eye; 130 

George, quoth she, if thou dost fail, 
Thy Sarah sure will dye. 

Though long, yet loe ! at last, 

The appointed day was come, 
That 1 must with my Sarah meet ; 135 

Having a mighty sum 

Of money in my hand*, 

Unto her house went I, 
Whereas my love upon her hed 

In saddest sort did lye. 140 

What ails my heart's delight, 

My Sarah dear ? quoth I j 
Let not my love lament and grieve, 

JNor sighing pine, and die. 

But tell me, dearest friend, 145 

What may thy woes amend, 
And thou shalt lack no means of help, 

Though forty pound I spend. 

With that she turn'd her head, 

And sickly thus did say, 150 

Oh me, sweet George, my grief is great, 

Ten pound I have to pay 

Unto a cruel wretch ; 
And God he knows, quoth she, 

1 have it not. Tush, rise I said, 155 
And take it here of me. 

Ten pounds, nor ten times ten, 

Shall make my love decay, 
Then from my hag into her lap, 

I cast ten pound straightway. 160 

All blithe and pleasanl then, 

To banqueting we •;(> ; 
She proffered me to l\ e with her, 

And said it should be so 

And after that same time, 166 

I gave her atore <>i co\ d, 
"\ ea, sometimes fifty pound at once; 

All u bicfa I did purloyn. 



• The having a ion <>i monej with him on Sunday, &c. 

■hews this niui.iiivi to have 1 *» . » « \» <i before the civil 

wan: the stricl observance <>i the Sabbath was owing to 
change of mannen al that period* 



And thus I did pass on ; 

Until niv master then 170 

Did call to have his reckoning in 

Cast up among his men. 

The which when as I heard, 

1 knew not what to say : 
For well I knew ttiat I was out 175 

Two hundred pound that day. 

Then from my master straight 

I ran in secret sort ; 
And unto Sarah Millwood there 

My case I did report. 180 

" But how she us'd this youth, 

In this his care and woe, 
And all a strumpet's wiley ways, 

The second part may showe." 

THE SECOND PART. 

Young Barnwall comes to thee 

Sweet Sarah, my delight ; 
I am undone unless thou stand 

My faithful friend this night. 

Our master to accompts 5 

Hath just occasion found ; 
And 1 am caught behind the hand 

Above two hundred pound : 

And now his wrath to 'scape, 

My love, I fly to thee, 10 

Hoping some time I may remaine 

In sefety here with thee. 

With that she knit her brows, 

And looking all aquoy, 
Quoth she, What should I have to do 15 

With any prentice boy? 

And seeing you have purloyn 'd 

Your master's goods away, 
The case is bad, and therefore here 

You shall no longer stay. SO 

Why, dear, thou know'st, I said, 

How all which I could get, 
I gave it, and did spend it all 

Upon thee every whit. 

Quoth she, Thou art a knave, 25 

To charge me in this sort, 
Being a woman of credit fair, 

And known of good report 

Therefore I tell the flat, 

Be packing with good speed , 
I do detie thee from my heart, 

And scorn thy lilthy deed. 

Is this the friendship, that 

You did to me protest? 
Is this the great affection, which 35 

You so to me exprest? 

Now fie on subtle shrews ! 

The best is, 1 may speed 
To get a lodging any where 

For money in my need. 



GEORGE BARNWELL 



259 



False woman, now farewell, 

Whilst twenty pound doth last, 
My anchor in some other haven 

With freedom I will cast. 

When she perceiv'd hy this, 45 

I had store of money there 
Stay, George, quoth she, thou art too quick: 

Why, man, I did but jeer : 

Dost think for all my speech, 

That I would let thee go ? 50 

Faith no, said she, my We to thee 

I wiss is more than so. 

You scome a prentice boy, 

I heard you just now swear, 
Wherefore I will not trouble you. 55 

Nay, George, hark in thine ear ; 

Thou shalt not go to-night. 

What chance soe're befall : 
But man we'll have a bed for thee, 

else the devil take all. 60 

So I by wiles bewitcht 

And snar'd with fancy still, 
Had then no power to ' get' away, 

Or to withstand her will. 

For wine on wine I call'd, 65 

And cheer upon good cheer ; 
And nothing in the world I thought 

For Sarah's love too dear. 

Whilst in her company, 

1 had such merriment ; 70 
All, all too little I did think, 

That I upon her spent. 

A fig for care and thought ! 

When all my gold is gone, 
In faith, my girl, we will have more, 75 

Whoever I light upon. 

My father's rich, why then 

Should I want store of gold 1 
Nay with a father sure, quoth she, 

A son may well make bold. 80 

I've a sister richly wed, 

I'll rob her ere I'll want. 
Nay then, quoth Sarah, they may well 

Consider of you scant. 

Nay, I an uncle have : 85 

At Ludlow he doth dwell : 
He is a grazier, which in wealth 

Doth all the rest excell. 

Ere I will live in lack, 

And have no coyn for thee ; 90 

I'll rob his house, and murder him. 

Why should you not I quoth she : 

Was I a man, ere I 

Would live in poor estate : 
On father, friends, and all my kin, 

I would my talons grate. 95 



For without money, George, 

A man is but a beast : 
But bringing money, thou shalt be 

Always my welcome guest. 100 

For should st thou be pursued 

Wirh twenty hues and cryes, 
And with a warrant searched for 

With Argus' hundred eyes. 

Yet here thou shalt be safe ; 105 

Such privy wayes there be, 
That if they sought an hundred years, 

They could not find out thee. 

And so carousing both 

Their pleasures to content : 110 

George Barnwell had in little space 

His money wholly spent. 

Which done, to Ludlow straight 

He did provide to go, 
To rob his wealthy uncle there ; 115 

His minion would it so. 

And once he thought to take 

His father by the way, 
But that he fear'd his master had 

Took order for his stay*. 120 

Unto his uncle then 

He rode with might and main, 
Who with a welcome and good cheer 

Did Barnwell entertain. 

One fortnight's space he stayed 125 

Until it chanced so, 
His uncle with his cattle did 

Unto a market go. 

His kinsman rode with him, 

Where he did see right plain, 130 

Great store of money he had took : 

When coming home again. 

Sudden within a wood, 

He struck his uncle down, 
And beat his brains out of his head ; 135 

So sore he crackt his crown. 

Then seizing fourscore pound, 

To London straight he hyed, 
And unto Sarah Millwood all 

The cruell fact descryed. 140 

Tush, 'tis no matter, George, 

So we the money have 
To have good cheer in jolly sort, 

And deck us fine and brave. 

Thus lived in filthy sort, 145 

Until their store was gone : 
When means to get them any more, 

1 wis, poor George had none. 

Therefore in railing sort, 

She thrust him out of door : 150 

Which is the just reward of those. 

Who spend upon a whore. 

e. for stopping and apprehending him at his father's. 
s 2 



*60 THE STEDFAST SHEPHERD. 


! do me not disgrace 


In which his own and Sarah's fault 




In this mv Deed, quoth lie 


He did at large recite. 




She call'd him thief and murderer, 155 






With all the spight might be : 


Whereby she seized was 






And then to Ludlow sent : 


170 


To the constable she sent, 


Where she was judg'd, condemn'd, and hang'd, | 


To have him apprehended ; 


For murder incontinent. 




And shewed how far, in each degree, 






He had the laws offended. 160 


There dyed this gallant quean, 
Such was her greatest gains : 




"When Barnwell saw her drift, 


For murder in Polonia, 


175 


To sea he got straightway ; 


Was Barnwell hang'd in chains. 




"Where fear and sting of conscience 






Continually on him lay. 


Lo ! here's the end of youth, 
That after harlots haunt ; 




Unto the lord mayor then, 165 


Who in the spoil of other men, 




He did a letter write ; 


About the streets do flaunt. 


180 


VII. 




THE STEDFAST SHEPHERD. 




These beautiful stanzas were written by George 


And fained othes may love obtaine : 




Wither, of whom some account was given in the 


I love her so, 




former part of this Volume : see the Song intitled 


Whose looke sweares No ; 




" The Shepherd's Resolution," Book II. Song XXI. 


That all your labours will be vaine. 


30 


In the first Edition of this work only a small frag- 






ment of this Sonnet was inserted. It was after- 






wards rendered more complete and entire by the 


Can he prize the tainted posies, 

Which on every brest are worne ; 
That may plucke the virgin roses 




addition of five Stanzas more, extracted from Wither's 




pastoral poem, intitled, " The Mistress of Philarete," 




of which this Song makes a part. It is now given 


From their never-touched thorne ? 




still more correct and perfect by comparing it with 


I can goe rest 


35 


another copy, printed by the author in his improved 


On her sweet brest, 




edition of " The Shepherd's Hunting," 1620, 8vo. 


That is the pride of Cynthia's traine : 




Hence away, thou Syren, leave me, 


Then stay thy tongue ; 




Pish ! unclaspe these wanton armes ; 


Thy mermaid song 




Sugred words can ne'er deceive me, 


Is all bestowed on me in vaine. 


40 


(Though thou prove a thousand charmes). 






Fie, fie, forbeare ; 5 






No common snare 


Hee's a foole, that basely dallies, 




Can ever my affection chaine : 


Where each peasant mates with him : 




Thy painted baits, 


Shall I haunt the thronged vallies, 




And poore deceits, 


Whilst ther's noble hils to climbe? 




Are all bestowed on me in vaine. 10 


No, no, though clownes 


45 


I'me no slave to such, as you be ; 
Neither shall that snowy brest, 


Are scar'd with frownes, 




I know the best can but disdaine : 




Rowling eye, and lip of ruby 


And those He prove : 




Ever robb me of my rest : 

Goe, goe, display 15 


So will thy love 




Be all bestowed on me in vaine. 


50 


Thy beaut ie's ray 






To some more-soone enamour'd swaine : 






Those common wiles 


I doe scorn to vow a dutie, 




Of sighs and smiles 


Where each lustful] lad may wooe : 




Are all bestowed on me in vaine. 20 


Give me her, whose sun-like beautie 
Buzzards dare not soare unto : 




I have elsewhere vowed a dutie ; 


Shee, shee it is 


55 


Turne away thy tempting eve : 


Aft'oords that hlisse 




Shew not me a painted beautie ; 


For whi( h 1 would refuse no paine : 




These impostures 1 defie : 


1 * ut such as you, 




My spirit lothes 25 


Fond fooles, adieu ; 




"Where gawdy clothes 


You seeke to captive me in vaine. 


60 



THE SPANISH VIRGIN, OR EFFECTS OF JEALOUSY. 


261 


• Leave me then, you Syrens, leave me ; 


The heart, that constant shall remaine : 


Seeke no more to worke my harmes : 


And I the while 




Craftie wiles cannot deceive me, 


Will sit and smile 




Who am.proofe against your charmes : 


To see you spend your time in vaine, 


70 


You labour may 65 






To lead astray 






VIII. 




THE SPANISH VIRGIN, OR EFFECTS OF JEALOUSY. 




The subject of this ballad is taken from a folio I 


And oft before his lady's face, 




collection of tragical stories, entitled, " The theatre 


As thinking her her friend, 




of God's judgments, by Dr. Beard and Dr. Taylor, 


He would the maiden's modest grace 




1642." Pt. 2, p. 89. — The text is given (with cor- 


And comeliness commend. 


40 


rections) from two copies ; one of them in black- 






letter in the Pepys collection. In this every stanza 


All which incens'd his lady so, 
She burnt with wrath extreame ; 




is accompanied with the following distich by way of 




burden : 


At length the fire that long did glow, 




" Oh jealousie ! thou art nurst in hell : 


Burst forth into a flame. 




Depart from hence, and therein dwell." 
All tender hearts, that ake to hear 






For on a day it so befell, 

When he was gone from home, 


45 


Of those that suffer wrong ; 


The lady all with rage did swell, 
And to the damsell come. 




All you, that never shed a tear. 




' Give heed unto my song. 






Fair Isabella's tragedy 5 


And charging her with great offence, 




My tale doth far exceed : 
Alas, that so much cruelty 

In female hearts should breed ! 


And many a grievous fault ; 
She bade her servants drag her thence, 


50 


Into a dismal vault, 




In Spain a lady liv'd of late, 


That lay beneath the common-shore : 




Who was of high degree ; 10 


A dungeon dark and deep : 




Whose wayward temper did create 


Where they were wont, in days of yore, 


55 


Much woe and misery. 


Offenders great to keep. 




Strange jealousies so fill'd her head 


There never light of chearful day 




With many a vain surmize, 


Dispers'd the hideous gloom ; 




She thought her lord had wrong'd her bed, 15 


But dank and noisome vapours play 




And did her love despise. 


Around the wretched room : 


60 


A gentlewoman passing fair 


And adders, snakes, and toads therein ' 




Did on this lady wait ; 


As afterwards was known, 




With bravest dames she might compare ; 


Long in this loathsome vault had bin, 




Her beauty was compleat. 20 


And were to monsters grown. 




Her lady cast a jealous eye 


Into this foul and fearful place, 


6j 


Upon this gentle maid ; 


The fair one innocent 




And taxt her with disloyaltye ; 


Was cast, before her lady's face ; 




And did her oft upbraid. 


Her malice to content. 




In silence still this maiden meek 25 


This maid no sooner enter'd is, 




Her bitter taunts would bear, 


But strait, alas ! she hears 


70 


While oft adown her lovely cheek 


The toads to croak, and snakes to hiss : 




Would steal the falling tear. 


Then grievously she fears. 




In vain in humble sort she strove 


Soon from their holes the vipers creep, 




Her fury to disarm ; SO 


And fiercely her assail . 




As well the meekness of the dove 


Which makes the damsel sorely weep, 


75 


The bloody hawke might charm. 


And her sad fate bewail. 




Her lord, of humour light and gay, 


With her fair hands she strives in vain 




And innocent the while, 


Her body to defend : 




As oft as she came in his way, 35 


With shrieks and cries she doth compiam, 




Would on the damsell smile 


But all is to no end.- 


30 



J62 JEALOUSY, 


TYRANT OF THE MIND. 


105 


A servant listning near the door, 




She starts to hear her sudden fate, 


Struck with her doleful noise, 




And does with torches run : 




Strait ran his lady to implore ; 




But all her haste was now too late, 




But she'll not hear his voice. 




For death his worst had done. 




With bleeding heart he goes agen 


85 


The door being open'd, strait they found 




To mirk the maiden's groans ; 




The virgin stretch'd along : 


110 


And plainly hears, within the den, 




Two dreadful snakes bad wrapt her round, 




How she herself bemoans. 




Which her to death bad stung. 




Again he to his lady hies 




One round her legs, her thighs, her wast, 




With all the haste he may : 


90 


Had twin'd his fatal wreath : 




She into furious passion flies, 




The other close her neck embrac'd, 


115 


And orders him away. 




And stopt her gentle breath. 




Still back again does he return 




The snakes, being from her body thrust, 




To hear her tender cries ; 




Their bellies were so fill'd, 




The virgin now had ceas'd to mourn ; 


95 


That with excess of blood they burst, 




Which fill'd him with surprize. 




Thus with their prey were kill'd. 


ISO 


In grief, and horror, and affright, 




The wicked lady, at this sight, 




He listens at the walls ; 




With horror strait ran mad ; 




But finding all was silent quite. 




So raving dy'd, as was most right, 




He to his lady calls. 


100 


'Cause she no pity had. 




Too sure, lady, now quoth he, 




Let me advise you, ladies all, 


125 


Your cruelty hath sped ; 




Of jealousy beware : 




Make hast, for shame, and come and see 


J 


It causeth many a one to fall, 




I fear the virgin's dead. 




And is the devil's snare. 

* 


• 
* 




12 


i. 




JEALOUSY, 


TYRANT OF THE MIND, 




This song is by Dryden, being inserted 


in his 


In absence, or unkind disdaine, 




Tragi-Comedy of " Love Triumphant," &c 


. — On 


Sweet hope relieves the lovers paine : 




account of the subject, it is inserted here. 




But, oh, no cure but death we find 
To sett us free 




What state of life can be so blest, 




From jealousie, 


15 


As love that warms the gentle brest ; 




Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind 




Two souls in one ; the same desire 








To grant the bliss, and to require ? 




False in thy glass all objects are, 




If in this heaven a hell we find, 


5 


Some sett too near, and some too far: 




Tis all from thee, 




Thou art the fire of endless night, 




O Jealousie ! 




The fire that burns, and gives no light. 


20 


Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind. 




All torments of the damn'd we find 
In only thee, 




All other ills, though sharp they prove, 




Jealousie ! 




Serve to refine and perfect love : 


10 


Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind. 





CONSTANT PENELOPE. 



263 



CONSTANT PENELOPE. 



The ladies are indebted for the following notable 
documents to the Pepys Collection, where the ori- 
ginal is preserved in black-letter, and is intitled, 
" A Looking-glass for Ladies, or a Mirrour for 
Married Women. Tune, Queen Dido, or Troy- 
town." 

When Greeks and Trojans fell at strife, 
And lords in armour bright were seen ; 

When many a gallant lost his life 
About fair Hellen, beauty's queen ; 

Ulysses, general so free, 5 

Did leave his dear Penelope. 

When she this wofull news did hear, 
That he would to the warrs of Troy ; 

For grief she shed full many a tear, 

At parting from her only joy : 10 

Her ladies all about her came, 

To comfort up this Grecian dame. 

Ulysses, with a heavy heart, 

Unto her then did mildly say, 
The time is come that we must part ; 15 

My honour calls me hence away ; 
Yet in my absence, dearest, be 
My constant wife, Penelope. 

Let me no longer live, she sayd, 

Then to my lord I true remain ; 20 

My honour shall not be betray'd 

Until I see my love again ; 
For I will ever constant prove, 
As is the loyal turtle-dove. 

Thus did they part with heavy chear, 25 

And to the ships his way he took ; 
Her tender eyes dropt many a tear ; 

Still casting many a longing look : 
She saw him on the surges glide, 
And unto Neptune thus she cry'd : 30 

Thou god, whose power is in the deep, 

And rulest in the ocean main, 
My loving lord in safety keep 

Till he return to me again : 
That I his person may behold, 35 

To me more precious far than gold. 

Then straight the ships with nimble sails 
Were all convey'd out of her sight : 

Her cruel fate she then bewails, 

Since she had lost her hearts delight. 40 

Now shall my practice be, quoth she, 

True vertue and humility. 

My patience I will put in ure, 

My charity I will extend ; 
Since for my woe there is no cure, 45 

The helpless now I will befriend : 
The widow and the fatherless 
I will relieve, when in distress. 



Thus she continued year by year 

In doing good to every one ; 
Her fame was noised every where, 

To young and old the same was known, 
That she no company would mind, 
W r ho were to vanity inclin'd. 

Mean while Ulysses fought for fame, 
'Mongst Trojans hazarding his life : 

Young gallants, hearing of her name, 
Came flocking for to tempt his wife : 

For she was lovely, young, and fair, 

No lady might with her compare. 

With costly gifts and jewels fine, 
They did endeavour her to win ; 

With banquets and the choicest wine, 
For to allure her unto sin : 

Most persons were of high degree, 

Who courted fair Penelope. 

With modesty and comely grace 
Their wanton suits she did denye : 

No tempting charms could e'er deface 
Her dearest husband's memorye ; 

But constant she would still remain, 

Hopeing to see him once again. 

Her book her dayly comfort was, 
And that she often did peruse ; 

She seldom looked in her glass ; 

Powder and paint she ne'er would use. 

I wish all ladies were as free 

From pride, as was Penelope. 

She in her needle took delight, 

And likewise in her spinning-wheel ; 

Her maids about her every night 
Did use the distaff, and the reel : 

The spiders, that on rafters twine, 

Scarce spin a thread more soft and fine. 

Sometimes she would bewail the loss 
And absence of her dearest love : 

Sometimes she thought the seas to cross. 
Her fortune on the waves to prove. 

I fear my lord is slain, quoth she, 

He stays so from Penelope. 

At length the ten years siege of Troy 
Did end ; in flames the city burn'd ; 

And to the Grecians was great joy, 
To see the towers to ashes turn'd : 

Then came Ulysses home to see 

His constant, dear, Penelope. 

O blame her not if she was glad, 
When she her lord again had seen. 

Thrice-welcome home, my dear, she said, 
A long time absent thou hast been : 

The wars shall never more deprive 

Me of my lord whilst I'm alive. 



50 



55 



60 



65 



70 



7.3 



80 



90 



95 



100 



ft. VALENTINE AND URSINE. 




Fair ladies all, example take ; 


— . _____ 

And vice from virtue to discern : 


And hence a worthy lesson learn, 


And let all women strive to be 


All youthful follies to forsake, 105 


As constant as Penelope. 


XI. 
TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS. 


By Col. Richard Lovelace : from the volume of 


1 True, a new mistresse now I chase, 5 


his poems, intitled "Lucasta, Lond. 1649,'' 12mo. 


The first foe in the field ; 


The elegance of this -writer's manner would he more 


And with a stronger faith imbrace 


admired if it had somewhat more of simplicity. 


A sword, a horse, a shield. 


Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde, 


Yet this inconstancy is such, 


That from the nunnerie 


As you too shall adore ; 10 


Of thy chaste hreast and quiet miude 


I could not love thee, deare, so much, 


To warre and armes I flie. 


Lov'd I not honour more. 


XII. 


VALENTINE AND URSINE. 


The old story -hook of Valentine and Orson (which 


Through the deep forest swift they pass, 


suggested the plan of this tale, but it is not strictly 


Through woods and thickets wild ; 


followed in it) was originally a translation from the 


When down within a lonely dell 1 > 


French, being one of their earliest attempts at ro- 


They found a new-born child ; 


mance. See " Le Bibliotheque de Romans, &c." 




The circumstance of the bridge of bells is taken 


All in a scarlet kercher lay'd 


from the old metrical legend of Sir Bevis, and has 


, also been copied in the Seven Champions. The 
original are, 


Of silk so fine and thin : 
A golden mantle wrapt him round, 




Pinn'd with a silver pin. 20 


" Over the dyke a bridge there lay, 


That man and beest might passe away : 




Under the bridge where sixty belles ; 


The sudden sight surpriz'd them all ; 


Right as the Romans telles ; 


The courtiers gather'd round ; 


That there might no man passe in, 


They look, they call, the mother seek ; 


But all they rang with a gyn." 


No mother could be found. 


Sign. E. iv. 




In the Editor's folio MS. was an old poem on this 


At length the king himself drew near, -5 


subject, in a wretched corrupt state, unworthy the 


And as he gazing stands, 


press : from which were taken such particulars as 


The pretty babe look'd up and smil'd, 


could be adopted. 


And stetch'd his little hands. 


PART the first. 
Whin Flora 'gins to decke the fields 


Now, by the rood, King Pepin says, 

This child is passing fair ; 30 
I wot he is of gentle blood ; 


With colours fresh and line, 


Then holy clerkes their inattins sing 
To good Saint Valentine ! 


Perhaps some prince's heir. 


The King of France that morning fair 5 


Goo hear him home unto my court 


lie would a hunting ride : 


With all the care ve may : 


To Artois forest prancing forth 


Let him be christen'd Valentine, 35 


In all his princelyo pride. 


In honour of this day : 


To grace his sports a courtly train 


And look me out some cunning nurse ; 


Of gallant peers attend ; 10 


Well nurtur'd let him bee ; 


Ami wiili then loud and cheerful cryes 


Nor ought be wanting that becomes 


'1 he hills and valleys rend. 


A bairn of high degree. 40 



VALENTINE 


AND URSINE. 


265 




They look'd him out a cunning nurse ; 

And nurtur'd well was hee ; 
Nor ought was wanting- that became 

A bairn of high degree. 


Like eagles' talons grew his nails : 
His limbs were thick and strong ; 

And dreadful was the knotted oak 
He bare with him along. 


100 




Thus grewe the little Valentine, 45 

Belov'd of king and peers ; 
And shew'd in all he spake or did 

A wit beyond his years. 


Soon as Sir Valentine approach 'd, 
He starts with sudden spring ; 

And yelling forth a hideous howl, 
He made the forests ring. 






But chief in gallant feates of arms 

He did himself advance, 50 
That ere he grewe to man's estate 

He had no peere in France. 


As when a tyger fierce and fell 
Hath spyed a passing roe, 

And leaps at once upon his throat ; 
So sprung the savage foe y 


105 




And now the early downe began 

To shade his youthful chin ; 
When Valentine was dubb'd a knight, 55 

That he might glory win. 


So lightly leap'd with furious force 
The gentle knight to seize : 

But met his tall uplifted spear, 
Which sunk him on his knees. 


110 




A boon, a boon, my gracious liege, 

I beg a boon of thee ! 
The first adventure that befalls, 

May be reserv'd for mee. 60 


A second stroke so stiff and stern 
Had laid the savage low ; 

But springing up, he rais'd his club, 
And aim'd a dreadful blow. 


115 




The first adventure shall be thine ; 

The king did smiling say. 
Nor many days, when lo ! there came 

Three palmers clad in graye. 


The watchful warrior bent his head, 
And shun'd the coming stroke j 

Upon his taper spear it fell, 
And all to shivers broke. 


J20 




Help, gracious lord, they weeping say'd ; 65 

And knelt, as it was meet : 
From Artoys forest we be come, 

With weak and wearye feet. 


Then lighting nimbly from his steed, 
He drew his burnisht brand : 

The savage quick as lightning flew 
To wrest it from his hand. 






"Within those deep and drearye woods 

There wends a savage boy ; 70 

Whose fierce and mortal rage doth yield 
Thy subjects dire annoy. 


Three times he grasp'd the silver hilt ; 

Three times he felt the blade ; 
Three times it fell with furious force ; 

Three ghastly wounds it made. 


125 




'Mong ruthless beares he sure was bred ; 

He lurks within their den : 
With beares he lives ; with beares he feeds, 75 

And drinks the blood of men. 


Now with redoubled rage he roar'd ; 

His eye-ball flash'd with fire ; 
Each hairy limb with fury shook ; 

And all his heart was ire, 


130 




To more than savage strength he joins 

A more than human skill : 
For arms, ne cunning may suffice 

His cruel rage to still : 80 


Then closing fast with furious gripe 
He clasp' d the champion round, 

And with a strong and sudden twist 
He laid him on the ground, 


135 




Up then rose Sir Valentine, 
And claim'd that arduous deed, 

Go forth and conquer, say'd the king, 
And great shall be thy meed. 


But soon the knight with active spring, 

O'erturn'd his hairy foe : 
And now between their sturdy fists 

Past many a bruising blow. 


140 




Well mounted on a milk-white steed, 85 

His armour white as snow ; 
As well beseem'd a virgin knight. 

Who ne'er had fought a foe : 


They roll'd and grappled on the ground, 
And there they struggled long : 

Skilful and active was the knight ; 
The savage he was strong. 






To Artoys forest he repairs 

With all the haste he may ; 90 
And soon he spies the savage youth 

A rending of his prey. 


But brutal force and savage strength 
To art and skill must yield : 

Sir Valentine at length prevail'd 
And won the well-fought field. 


115 




■^His unkempt hair all matted hung 
His shaggy shoulders round : 
\ His eager eye all fiery glow'd : 95 
His face with fury frown'd. 


Then binding strait his conquer'd foe 

Fast with an iron chain, 
He tyes him to his horse's tail, 

And leads him o'er the plain. 


150 




n 






- 



*f»6 VALENTINE AND URSINE. 


To court his hairv Captive soon 


Vain boaster, said the youthful knight, 


4> 


Sir Valentine doth bring ; 


I scorn thy threats and thee : 




And kneeling down upon his knee, 155 


I trust to force thy brazen gates, 




Presents him to the king. 


And set thy captives free. 




With loss of hlood and loss of strength 


Then putting spurs unto his steed, 




The savage tamer grew ; 


He aim'd a dreadful thrust : 


50 


And to Sir Valentine became 


The spear against the gvant glanc'd, 




A servant try'd and true. 1 60 


And caus'd the blood to burst. 




And 'cause with beares he erst was bred, 

Ursine they call his name ; 
A name which unto future times 

The Muses shall proclame. 


Mad and outrageous with the pain, 
He whirl'd his mace of steel : 

The very wind of such a blow 
Had made the champion reel. 


bl 


PART THE SECOND. 






In high renown with prince and peere 


It haply mist ; and now the knight 




Now liv'd Sir Valentine : 


His glittering sword display'd, 




His high renown with prince and peere 
Made envious hearts repiue. 


And riding round with whirlwind speed 




Oft made him feel the blade. 


60 


It chanc'd the king upon a day 5 


As when a large and monstrous oak 




Prepar'd a sumptuous feast : 


Unceasing axes hew : 




And there came lords, and dainty dames. 


So fast around the gyant's limbs 




And many a noble guest. 


The blows quick-darting flew. 




Amid their cups, that freely flow'd, 


As when the boughs with hideous fal 


65 


Their revelry and mirth, 10 


Some hapless woodman crush : 




A youthful knight tax'd Valentine 


With such a force the enormous foe 




Of base and doubtful birth. 


Did on the champion rush. 




The foul reproach, so grossly urg'd, 


A fearful blow, alas ! there came, 




His generous heart did wound : 


Both horse and knight it took, 


70 


And strait he vow'd he ne'er would rest 15 


And laid them senseless in the dust ; 




Till he his parents found. 


So fatal was the stroke. 




Then bidding king and peers adieu, 


Then smiling forth a hideous grin, 




Early one summer's day, 
With faithful Ursine by his side, 


The gyant strides in haste, 
And, stooping, aims a second stroke : 
" Now caytifF breathe thy last !" 




75 


From court he took his way. 20 




O'er hill and valley, moss and moor, 
For many a day they pass ; 

At length, upon a moated lake, 
They found a bridge of brass. 


But ere it fell, two thundering blows 




Upon his scull descend : 
From Ursine's knotty club they came, 
Who ran to save his friend. 


8C 


Beyond it rose a castle fair, 25 
Y-built of marble stone : 






Down sunk the gyant gaping wide, 




The battlements were gilt with gold, 
And glittred in the sun. 


And rolling his grim eyes : 




The hairy youth repeats his blows : 




He gasps, he groans, he dies. 




Beneath the bridge, with strange device, 






A hundred bells were hung ; 30 


Quickly Sir Valentine reviv'd 


85 


That man, nor beast, might pass thereon, 


With Ursine's timely care : 




But strait their larum rung. 


And now to search the castle walls 
The venturous youths repair. 




This quickly found the youthful pair, 






Who boldly crossing o'er, 


The blood and bones of murder'd knights 




The jangling sound bedeaft their ears, 35 


They found where'er they came : 
At length within a lonelv cell 


90 


And rung from shore to shore. 




Quick at the sound the castle gates 


They saw a mournful dame. 




Unlock'd and opened wide, 


Her gentle eyes were dini'd with tears ; 

Her cheeks were pale with woe: 
And long Sir Valentine besought 




And strait a gyant huge and grim 

Stalk'd forth with stately pride 40 


95 


Now yield you, caytiffs, to my will ; 


Her doleful tale to know. 




He cried with hideous roar ; 
Or else the wolves shall cat your flesh, 
And ravens drink your gore. 


" Alas ! young knight," she weeping said, 

Condole niv wretched fate; 
A childless mother here you see ; 

A wife without a mate. 


100 


Vir. 23. i. c. a lake that MlTed for a moat io a cattle. 



VALENTINE AND URSINE. 



267 



•' These twenty winters here forlorn 
I've drawn my hated hreath ; 

Sole witness of a monster's crimes, 
And wishing aye for death. 

" Know, I am sister of a king, 

And in my early years 
Was married to a mighty prince, 

The fairest of his peers. 

*' With him I sweetly liv'd in love 

A twelvemonth and a day ; 
When, lo ! a foul and treacherous priest 

Y-wrought our loves' decay. 



105 



110 



" His seeming goodness wan him pow'r : 

He had his master's ear : 
And long to me and all the world 115 

He did a saint appear. 



*' One day, when we were all alone, 
He proffer'd odious love : 

The wretch with horrour I repuls'd, 
And from my presence drove. 



120 



125 



130 



" He feign'd remorse, and pitious heg'd 

His crime I'd not reveal : 
Which, for his seeming penitence, 

I promis'd to conceal. 

" With treason, villainy, and wrong, 

My goodness he repay'd : 
With jealous doubts he fill'd my lord, 

And me to woe betray'd. 

11 He hid a slave within my bed, 

Then rais'd a bitter cry. 
My lord, possest with rage, condemn'd 

Me, all unheard, to dye. 



" But, 'cause I then was great with child, 

At length my life he spar'd : 
But bade me instant quit the realme, 135 

One trusty knight my guard. 

" Forth on my journey I depart, 

Opprest with grief and woe ; 
And tow'rds my brother's distant court, 

With breaking heart, I goe. 140 

" Long time thro' sundry foreign lands 

We slowly pace along : 
At length, within a forest wild, 

I fell in labour strong : 

" And while the knight for succour sought, 145 

And left me there forlorn, 
My childbed pains so fast increast 

Two lovely boys were born. 

" The eldest fair, and smooth, as snow 

That tips the mountain hoar : 150 

The younger's little body rough 
With hairs was cover 'd o'er. 

" But here afresh begin my woes : 

While tender care I took 
To shield my eldest from the cold 155 

And wrap him in my cloak ; 



" A prowling bear burst from the wood, 

And seiz'd my younger son : 
Affection lent my weakness wings, 

And after them I run. 160 

" But all forewearied, weak and spent, 

I quickly swoon'd away ; 
And there beneath the greenwood shade 

Long time I lifeless lay. 

" At length the knight brought me relief, 165 

And rais'd me from the ground : 
But neither of my pretty babes 

Could ever more be found. 

" And, while in search we wander'd far, 

We met that gyant grim ; 170 

Who ruthless slew my trusty knight, 
And bare me off with him. 

" But charm'd by heav'n, or else my griefs, 

He ofFer'd me no wrong ; 
Save that within these lonely walls 175 

I've been immur'd so long." 

Now, surely, said the youthful knight, 

You are Lady Bellisance, 
Wife to the Grecian emperor : 

Your brother's Kins: of France. 



For in your royal brother's court 

Myself my breeding had ; 
Where oft the story of your woes 

Hath made my bosom sad. 

If so, know your accuser's dead, 
Aud dying own'd his crime ; 

And long your lord hath sought you out 
Thro' every foreign clime. 

And when no tidings he could learn 

Of his much-wronged wife, 
He vow'd thenceforth within his court 

To lead a hermit's life. 

Now heaven is kind ! the lady said ; 

And dropt a joyful tear : 
Shall I once more hehold my lord 1 

That lord I love so dear 1 



180 



185 



190 



195 



But, madam, said Sir Valentine, 

And knelt upon his knee ; 
Know you the cloak that wrapt your bade, 

If you the same should see. 200 

And pulling forth the cloth of gold, 

In which himself was found ; 
The lady gave a sudden shriek 

And fainted on the ground. 

But by his pious care reviv'd, 205 

His tale she heard anon ; 
And soon by other tokens found, 

He was indeed her son. 

But who's this hairy youth ? she said ; 

He much resembles thee : 210 

The bear devour'd my younger son, 

Or sure that son were he. 



2o8 



II IK DRAGON OF WAXTLEY. 



Madam, this youth with hears was bred, 

And rear'd within their den. 
But recollect ye any mark 215 



To know 



your 



son asren 



Upon his little side, quoth she, 

Was Btampt a blood v rose. 
Here, lady, see the crimson mark 

Upon his body grows ! 

Then clasping both her new-found sons 
She bath'd their cheeks with tears ; 

And soon towards her brothers court 
Her joyful course she steers. 



220 



What pen can paint King Pepin's joy, 

His sister thus restcr'd ! 
And soon a messenger was sent 

To chear her dropping lord : 

Who came in haste with all his peers, 
To fetch her home to Greece ; 

Where many happy years they reign'd 
In perfect love and peace. 

To them Sir Ursine did succeed, 
And long the scepter bare. 

Sir Valentine he stav'd in France, 
And was his uncle's heir. 



22.5 



230 



235 



xirr. 

THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY 



This humorous song (as a former Editor* has 
well observed) is to old metrical romances and 
ballads of chivalry, what Don Quixote is to prose 
narratives of that kind : — a lively satire on their 
extravagant fictions. But although the satire is 
thus general, the subject of this ballad is local and 
peculiar ; so that many of the finest strokes of 
humour are lost for want of our knowing the 
minute circumstances to which they allude. Many 
of them can hardly now be recovered, although we 
have been fortunate enough to learn the general 
subject to which the satire referred, and shall detail 
the information with which we have been favoured, 
in a seperate memoir at the end of the poem. 

In handling his subject, the Author has brought 
in most of the common incidents which occur in 

Romance. The description of the dragon t his 

outrages the people flying to the knight for 

succour his care in choosing his armour his 

being drest for fight by a young damsel and 

most of the circumstances of the battle and victory 
(allowing for the burlesque turn given to them) are 
what occur in every book of chivalry, whether in 
prose or verse. 

If any one piece, more than other, is more par- 
ticularly levelled at, it seems to be the old rhyming 
legend of Sir Bevis. There a Dragon is attacked 
from a well in a manner not very remote from this 
of the ballad : 

There was a well, so have I wynne, 
And Bevis stumbled ryght therein. 
* * " * 

Than was he glad without fayle, 
And rested a whyle for his avavle ; 
And dranke of that water his fyll ; 
And than lie lepte out, with good wyll, 

And with Morglay his brande 

He assayled the dragon, 1 underatande ; 

On the dragon be smote BO Caste, 
Where that, lie hit the scales braste : 
The dragon then fnynted .sore, ' 
And cast a ealOQ and more 



• Collection of HUtorlcal Balladt in 3 vol. nn. 
J See above, p. 221, and p. 249. 



Out of his mouthe of venim strong, 
Ami on Syr Bevis he it fiong : 
It was venymous y-wis. 

This seems to be meant by the Dragon of Want- 
ley's stink, ver. 110. As the politic knight's creeping 
out, and attacking the dragon, Sec. seems evidently 
to allude to the following : 

Bevis blessed himselfe, and forth yode, 

And lepte out with haste full good ; 

And Bevis unto the dragon gone is ; 

And the dragon also to Bevis. 

Longe and harde was that fyght 

Betwene the dragon and that knyght 

But ever whan Syr Bevis was hurt sore, 

He went to the well, and washed him thore ; 

1 le was as hole as any man, 

Ever freshe as whan he began. 

The dragon sawe it might not avayle 

Besyde the well to hold batayle ; 

He thought he would, wytb some wyle, 

Out of that place Bevis begyle ; 

He woulde have flowen then awaye, 

But Bevis lepte after with good Morglaye, 

And hyt him under the wynge, 

As he was in his flyenge, &c. 

Sign. M. jv. L. j. &c. 

After all, perhaps the writer of this ballad was 
acquainted with the above incidents only through 
the medium of Spenser, who has assumed most of 
them in his " Faery Queen." At least some particu- 
lars in the description of the Dragon. &c. seem 
evidently borrowed from the latter. See Book I. 
Canto 11, wheie the Dragon's "two wynges like 

sayls huge long tayl with stings his 

cruel rending clawes and yron teeth his 

breath of smothering smoke and sulphur" and 

the duration of the fight for upwards of two days, 
hear a great resemblance to passages in the following 
ballad ; though it must be confessed that these par- 
ticulars are common to all old writers of romance. 

Although this ballad must have been written early 
in the last century, we have met with none but 
such as were comparatively modern copies. It is 



THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. 



269 



here printed from one in Roman letter, in the Pepys 
Collection, collated with such others as could be 
procured. 

Old stories tell, how Hercules 

A dragon slew at Lerna, 
With seven heads, and fourteen eyes, 
To see and well discerne-a : ' 
But he had a club, this dragon to drub, 5 

Or he had ne'er done it, I warrant ye : 
But More of More-Hall, with nothing at all, 
He slew the dragon of Wantley. 



This dragon had two furious wings, 

Each one upon each shoulder ; 
With a sting in his tayl, as long as a flayl, 
Which made him bolder and bolder. 
He had long claws, and in his jaws 

Four and forty teeth of iron ; 
With a hide as tough as any buff, 
Which did him round environ. 

Have you not heard how the Trojan horse 

Held seventy men in his belly ? 
This dragon was not quite so big, 
But very near, I'll tell ye. 
Devoured he poor children three, 

That could not with him grapple ; 
And at one sup he eat them up, 
As one would eat an apple. 



10 



15 



20 



2.3 



All sorts of cattle this dragon did eat. 

Some say he ate up trees, 
And that the forests sure he would 

Devour up by degrees : [turkies ; 

For houses and churches were to him geese and 

He ate all, and left none behind, 30 

But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not crack, 

Which on the hills you will find. 

In Yorkshire, near fair Rotherham, 

Ihe place I know it well ; 
Some two or three miles, or thereabouts, 33 

I vow I cannot tell ; 
But there is a hedge, just on the hill edge, 

And Matthew's house hard by it ; 
O there and then was this dragon's den, 

You could not chuse but spy it. 40 

Some say, this dragon was a witch ; 

Some say, he was a devil, 
For from his nose a smoke arose, 
And with it burning snivel ; 
Which he cast off, when he did cough, 45 

In a well that he did stand by ; 

Which made it look just like a brook 

Running with burning brandy. 

Hard by a furious knight there dwelt, 

Of whom all towns did ring, 50 

For he could wrestle, play at quarter-staff, kick, 
cuff and huff, 
Call son of a whore, do any kind of thing : 
By the tail and the main, with his hands twain 

He swung a horse till he was dead ; 
And that which is stranger, he for very anger 55 
Eat him all up but his head. 



Ver. 29. were to him gorse and birches. Other copies. 



These children, as I told, being eat ; 

Men, women, girls, and boys, 
Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging, 

And made a hideous noise : 30 

O save us all, More of More-hall, 

Thou peerless knight of these woods ; [on, 

Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a rag 
We '11 give thee all our goods. 

Tut, tut, quoth he, no goods I want ; 6b 

But I want, I want, in sooth, 
A fair maid of sixteen, that's brisk and keen, 
With smiles about the mouth ; 
Hair black as sloe, skin white as snow, 

With blushes her cheeks adorning ; 70 

To anoynt me o'er night, ere I go to fight, 
And to dress me in the morning. 

This being done, he did engage 

To hew the dragon down ; 
But first he went, new armour to 75 

Bespeak at Sheffield town ; 
With spikes all about, not within but without, 

Of steel so sharp and strong ; 
Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all o'er, 
Some five or six inches long 80 

Had you but seen him in this dress, 
How fierce he look'd and how big, 
You would have thought him for to be 
Some Egyptian porcupig : 
He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all, 85 

Each cow, each horse, and each hog : 
For fear they did flee, for they took him to be 
Some strange outlandish hedge-hog. 

To see this fight, all people then 

Got up on trees and houses, 90 

On churches some, and chimneys too ; 
But these put on their trowses, 
Not to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose, 

To make him strong and mighty, 
He drank by the tale, six pots of ale, 95 

And a quart of aqua-vitae. 

It is not strength that always wins, 

For wit doth strength excell ; 
Which made our cunning champion 

Creep down into a well ; 100 

Where he did think, this dragon would drink, 

And so he did in truth ; 
And as he stoop'd low, he rose up and cry'd, boh ! 
And hit him in the mouth. 



Oh, quoth the dragon, pox take thee, come out, 

Thou disturb'st me in my drink : 106 

And then he turn'd, and s ... at him; 
Good lack how he did stink • 
Beshrew thy soul, thy body's foul, 

Thy dung smells not like balsam ; 110 

Thou son of a whore, thou stink'st so sore, 
Sure thy diet is unwholesome. 

Our politick knight, on the other side, 

Crept out upon the brink, 
And gave the dragon such a douse, 115 

He knew not what to think : 



*70 



THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. 



By cock, quoth lie, say you so, do you see? 

And then at him he let fly 
With hand and with foot, and so they went to't ; 

And the word it was. Hev boys, hey ! 120 

Your words, quoth the dragon, I don't understand; 

Then to it they fell at all, 
Like two wild boars so fierce, if I may 
Compare great things with small. 
Two days and anight, with this dragon did fight 125 
Our champion on the ground ; [neat, 

Tho' their strength it was great, their skill it was 
They never had one wound. 

At length the hard earth began to quake, 

The dragon gave him a knock, 130 

Which made him to reel, and straitwayhe thought, 
To lift him as high as a rock, 
And thence let him fall. But More of More-hall, 

Like a valiant son of Mars, 
As he came like a lout, so he turn'd him about, 135 
And hit him a kick on the a . . . 

Oh, quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh, 

And turn'd six times together, 
Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearing 
Out of his throat of leather ; 
More of More-hall ! O thou rascal ! 140 

Would I had seen thee never ; [» ut » 

With the thing at thy foot, thou hast prick'd my a . . . 
And I'm quite undone for ever. 

Murder, murder, the dragon cry'd, 145 

Alack, alack, for grief ; 
Had you but mist that place, you could 
Have done me no mischief. 
Then his head he shaked, trembled and quaked, 

And down he laid and cry'd ; 150 

First on one knee, then on back tumbled he, 
So groan'd, kickt, s . . ., and dy'd. 

%* A description of the supposed scene of the 
foregoing Ballad, which was communicated to the 
Editor in 1767, is here given in the words of the 
relater : 

" In Yorkshire, 6 miles from Rotherham, is a vil- 
lage, called Wortley, the seat of the late Wortley 
Montague, Esq. About a mile from this village is 
a Lodge, named WarnclifF Lodge, but vulgarly 
called Wantley : here lies the scene of the Song. I 
was there above forty years ago: and it being a 
woody rocky place, my friend made me clamber over 
rocks and stones, not telling me to what end, till I 
came to a sort of a cave ; then asked my opinion of 
the place and pointing to one end, says, Here lay 
the Dragon killed by Moor of Moor-hall: here lay 
his head ; here lay his tail ; and the stones we came 
over on the hill, are those he could not crack ; and 

}ron white house you see half a mile oft*, is Moor- 
lall. 1 had dined at the lodge, and knew the man's 
name was Matthew, who was a keeper to Mr. 
Wortley, and, as lie endeavoured to persuade me, 
was the same Matthew mentioned in the Song : in 
the house is the picture of the Dragon and Moor of 
Moor-hall, and near it a well, which, says he, is the 
described in the ball 

+ lt Since the former editions of this humorous 
old song were printed, the following " Key to the 



Satire" hath been communicated by Godfrey Bos- 
ville, Esq. of Thorp, near Malton, in Yorkshire ; 
who, in the most obliging manner, gave full permis- 
sion to subjoin it to the poem. 

Warncliffe Lodge, and Warncliffe "Wood (vulgarly 
pronounced Wantley), are in the parish of Pennis- 
ton, in Yorkshire. The rectory of Penniston was 
part of the dissolved monastery of St. Stephen's, 
Westminster ; and was granted to the Duke of 
Norfolk's family : who therewith endowed an hos- 
pital, which he built at Sheffield, for women. The 
trustees let the impropriation of the great tithes of 
Penniston to the Wortley family, who got a great 
deal by it, and wanted to get stdl more : for Mr. 
Nicholas Wortley attempted to take the tithes in 
kind, but Mr. Francis Bosville opposed him, and 
there was a decree in favour of the modus in 3?th 
Eliz. The vicarage of Penniston did not go along 
with the rectory, but with the copyhold rents, and 
was part of a large purchase made by Ralph Bos- 
ville, Esq. from Queen Elizabeth, in the 2d year of 
her reign : and that part he sold in 12th Eliz. to his 
elder brother Godfrey, the father of Francis ; who 
left it, with the rest of his estate, to his wife, for her 
life it, and then to Ralph, 3d son of his uncle Ralph. 
The widow married Lyonel Rowlestone, lived 
eighteen years, and survived Ralph. 

This premised, the ballad apparently relates to the 
lawsuit carried on concerning this claim of tithes 
made by the Wortley family. B Houses and 
churches were to him geese and turkeys :" which 
are titheable things, the Dragon chose to live on. 
Sir Francis Wortley, the son of Nicholas, attempted 
again to take the tithes in kind : but the parishioners 
subscribed an agreement to defend their modus. 
And at the head of the agreement was Lyonel Row- 
lestone, who is supposed to be one of " the Stones, 
dear Jack, which the Dragon could not crack. The 
agreement is still preserved in a large sheet of 
parchment, dated 1st of James I. and is full of names 
and seals, which might be meant by the coat of 
armour, " with spikes all about, both within and 
without." More of More-hall was either the attorney, 
or counsellor, who conducted the suit. He is not 
distinctly remembered, but More-hall is still extant 
at the very bottom of Wantley [WarnclifF] Wood, 
and lies so low, that it might be said to be in a well : 
as the Dragon's den [Warnclift' Lodge] was at the 
top of the wood, " with Matthew's house hard by 
it." The keepers belonging to the Wortley family 
were named, for many generations, Matthew 
Northall: the last of them left this lodge, within 
memory, to be keeper to the Duke of Norfolk. The 
present owner of More-hall still attends Mr. Bos- 
ville's Manor Court at Ox-spring, and pays a rose a 
year. " More of More-hall, with nothing at all, 
slew the Dragon of Wantley." He gave him, in- 
stead of tithes, so small a modus, that it was in effect 
nothing at all, and was slaying him with a vengeance. 
" The poor children three," &c. cannot surely mean 
the three sisters of Francis Bosville, who would 
have been coheiresses, had he made no will 1 The 
late Mr. Bosville had a contest with the descendants 
of two of them, the late Sir Geo. Saville's father, 
and Mr. Copley, about the presentation to Penniston, 
they supposing Francis had not the power to give 
this part of the estate from the heirs at law ; but it 
was decided against them. The Dragon (Sir Francis 
Wortley) succeeded better with his cousin Wordes- 
worth, the freehold lord of the manor (for it is the 



ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 



271 



copyhold manor that belongs to Mr. Bosville) having 1 
persuaded him not to join the refractory parish- 
ioners, under a promise that he would let him his 
tithes cheap : and now the estates of Wortley and 



Wordesworth are the only lands that pay tithes in 
the parish. 

N.B. The " two days and a night," mentioned in 
ver. 125, as the duration of the combat, was proba- 
bly that of the trial at law. 



XIV. 
ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND, 



THE FIRST TART. 



As the former song is in ridicule of the extrava- 
gant incidents in old ballads and metrical romances ; 
so this is a burlesque of their style ; particularly of 
the rambling transitions and wild accumulation of 
unconnected parts, so frequent in many of them. 

This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy 
in the Pepys collection, " imprinted at London, 
1612." It is more ancient than many of the pre- 
ceding ; but we place it here for the sake of connect- 
ing it with the Second Part. 

Why doe you boast of Arthur and his knightes, 
Knowing 'well' how many men have endured 

fightes ? 
For besides King Arthur, and Lancelot du lake, 
Or Sir Tristram de Lionel, that fought for ladies 

sake ; 

Read in old histories, and there you shall see [flee. 

How St. George, St. George the dragon made to 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y peine. [France ; 



Mark our father Abraham, when first he resckued 

Lot _ _ [got: 

Onely with his household, what conquest there he 
David was elected a prophet and a king, [sling : 
He slew the great Goliah, with a stone within a 
Yet these were not knightes of the table round ; 
Nor St. George, St. George, who the dragon did 

confound. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 

Sing, Honi soit qtii mal y pense. 

Jephthah and Gideon did lead their men to fight, 
They conquered the Amorites, and put them all 

to flight ; 
Hercules his labours ' were' on the plaines of Basse; 
And Sampson slew a thousand with the jawbone 

of an asse, [mighty spoyle : 

And eke he threw a temple downe, and did a 
But St. George, St. George he did the dragon 

/oyle. [France ; 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

The warres of ancient monarchs it were too long 
to tell, [excell ; 

And likewise of the Romans, how farre they did 
Hannyball and Scipio in many a fielde did fighte : 
Orlando Fuiioso he was a worthy knighte : 



Remus and Romulus, were they that Rome did 
builde : [yielde. 

But St. George, St. George the dragon made to 
St. George he was for England j St. Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

The noble Alphonso, that was the Spanish king, 
The order of the red scarffes and bandrolles in 

did bring* : [he did begin, 

He had a troope of mighty knightes, when first 
Which sought adventures farre and neare, that 

conquest they might win ; 
The ranks of the Pagans he often put to flight : 
But St. George, St. George did with the dragon 

fight. [France ; 

St George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

Many ' knights' have fought with proud Tamber- 

laine : 
Cutlax the Dane, great warres he did maintaine : 
Rowland of Beame, and good * Sir' Olivere 
In the forest of Aeon slew both woolfe and beare : 
Besides that noble Hollander, ' Sir' Goward with 

the bill : * [spill. 

But St. George, St. George the dragon's blood did 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

Valentine and Orson were of King Pepin's blood : 
Alfride and Henry they were brave knightes and 

good : [maine : 

The four sons of Aymon, that follow'd Charle- 
Sir Hughon of Burdeaux, and Godfrey of Bullaine: 
These were all French knights that lived in that 

age: 
But St. George, St. George the dragon did assuage. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense, 

Bevis conquered Ascapart, and after slew the 
boare, [the moore : 

And then he crost beyond the seas to combat with 

Sir Isenbras and Eglamore, they were knightes 
most bold ; [hath told : 

And good Sir John Mandeville of travel much 

* This probably alludes to " An Ancient Order of Knight 
hood, called the Order of the Band, instituted by Don Al- 
phonsus, King of Spain, ....to wear a red riband of three 
lingers breadth," &c. See Ames, Typog. p. 327 



'2 7-2 



FT. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 



There were many English knights that Pagans did 

convert : [heart. 

Rut St. George, St« George pluckt dot the dragon's 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. [France ; 

The nohle Earl of Warwick, that was call'd Sir 

The infidels and patrans stoutlie did defie ; [Guy, 

He slew the giant Brandimore, and after was the 

death [more heath ; 

Of that most ghastly dun cowe, the divell of Duns- 

Besides his nohle deeds all done heyond the seas : 

Bat St. George, St. George the dragon did appease. 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. [France ; 

Richard Coeur-de-lion, erst king of this land, 
He the lion gored with his naked hand*: 
The false Djke of Austria nothing did he feare ; 
Rut his son he killed with a hoxe on the eare ; 
Resides his famous actes done in the holy lande : 
But St. George, St. George the dragon did with- 

stande. [France ; 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 



Henry the fifth he conquered all France, 

And quartered their arms, his honour to advance 

He their cities razed, and threw their castles 

downe, 
And his head he honoured with a double crowne . 
He thumped the French-men, and after home he 

came , 
Rut St. George, St. George he did the dragon tame. 
St. George he was for England : St. Dennis was ior 

France ; 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 



St. David of Wales the Welsh-men much advance . 
St. Jaques of Spaine, that never yet broke lance : 
St Patricke of Ireland, which was St. Georges boy, 
Seven yeares he kept his horse, and then stole him 

away : 
For which knavish act, as slaves they doe remaine : 
But St. George, St. George the dragon he hath 

slaine. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 



XV. 

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND, 



THE SECOND TART, 



■ was written by John Grubb, M. A. of Christ 

Church, Oxford. The occasion of its being composed 
is said to have been as follows. A set of gentlemen 
of the university had formed themselves into a Club, 
all the members of which were to be of the name of 
George ; their anniversary feast was to be held on 
St. George's day. Our Author solicited strongly to 
be admitted ; but his name being unfortunately John , 
this disqualification was dispensed with only upon 
this condition, that he would compose a soug in 
honour of their Patron Saint, and would every year 
produce one or more new stanzas, to be sung on 
their annual festival. This gave birth to the follow- 
ing humorous performance, the several stanzas of 
which were the produce of many successive anniver- 
saries!. 

This diverting poem was long handed about in 
manuscript ; at length a friend of Grubb's under- 
took to get it printed, who, not keeping pace with 
the impatience of his friends, was addressed in the 
following whimsical macaronic lines, which, in such 
a collection as this, may not improperly accompany 
the poem itself. 

Exi'om ri.Aiu-NciT. \, sive Qri iumoniuncula ad 



• Allndiog t<> tii<: fabulous exploits attributed t<> this king 
Id tin- >ld romances. Sec the Dissertation prefixed to the 
Third S< rh i, 

+ To tiii> circumstance it is owing thai the Editor has 
never met with two copies in which the stanzas are arranged 
alike : in- bat iii< refore thrown them im<> what appeared the 
most natural order. The verses are properly tang Alexan- 
drlnesi bni the narrowness of the page m :i«i»- it necessarj to 
subdivide them: they are here printed with manj Improve- 
ments. 



Avtoxium [Atherton] ob Poema Johannis Grub 
Viri rov wavv ingeniosissimi in lucem nondum edit 
Toxi ! Tune sines divina poemata Grubbi 
Intomb'd in secret thus still to remain any longer, 
Tovvofia gov shall last, Q Tpvt€e hap-repeg aei, 
Grubbe tuum nomen vivet dum nobilis ale-a 
Efficit heroas, dignamque heroe puellam. 
Est genus beroum, quos nobilis efficit ale-a 
Qui pro niperkin clamant, quaternque liquoris 
Quern vocitant Homines, Brandy, Superi Cherry- 
brandy, 
Sacpe illi long-cut, vel small-cut flare Tobacco 
Sunt soliti pipos. Ast si generosior herba 
(Per varios casus, per tot descrimina rerum) 
Mundungus desit, turn non funcare recusant 
Brown-paper tosta, vel quod fit arundine bed-mat. 
Hie labor, hoc opus est heroum ascedere sedes ! 
Ast ego quo rapiar? quo me feret entheus ardor, 
Grubbe tui memorem ? Divinum expande poema. 
Qua? mora? quae ratio est, quin Grubbi protinus 

anser 
Virgilii, Flaccique simul canat inter olores ? 

At length the importunity of his friends prevailed 
and Mr. Grubb's song was published at Oxford 
under the following title : 

The British Heroes. 

A New Poem in honour of St. George 

By Mr. John Grubs 

School-master of Christ-Church 

O: ox. 1688. 

Ftiretc Unguis : carmina non prius 

Audita, musarum sacerdos 

Canto. Hon. 

Sold by Henry Clements. Oxon. 



ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 



273 



The story of King Arthur old 

Is very memorable, 
The number of his valiant knights, 

And roundness of his table : 
The knights around his table in 5 

A circle sate, d'ye see : 
And altogether made up one 

Large hoop of chivalry. 
He had a sword, both broad and sharp, 

Y-cleped Caliburn, 10 

Would cut a flint more easily 

Than pen-knife cuts a corn ; 
As case-knife does a capon carve, 

So would it carve a rock, 
And split a man at single slash, 15 

From noddle down to nock. 
A s Roman Augur's steel of yore 

Dissected Tarquin's riddle, 
So this would cut both conjurer 

And whetstone thro' the middle. 20 

He was the cream of Brecknock, 

And flower of all the Welsh : 
But George he did the dragon fell, 

And gave him a plaguy squelsh. [France ; 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 26 

Pendragon, like his father Jove, 

Was fed with milk of goat ; 
And like him made a noble shield 

Of she-goat's shaggy coat : 30 

On top of burnisht helmet he 

Did wear a crest of leeks ; 
And onions' heads, whose dreadful nod 

Drew tears down hostile cheeks. 
Itch and Welsh blood did make him hot, 35 

And very prone to ire ; 
H' was ting'd with brimstone, like a match, 

And would as soon take fire, 
As brimstone he took inwardly 

When scurf gave him occasion, 40 

His postern puff of wind was a 

Sulphureous exhalation. 
The Briton never tergivers'd, 

But was for adverse drubbing, 
End never turn'd his back to aught, 45 

But to a post for scrubbing. 
His sword would serve for battle, or 

For dinner, if you please ; 
When it had slain a Cheshire man, 

'Twould toast a Cheshire cheese. 50 

He wounded, and, in their own blood, 

Did anabaptize Pagans : 
But George he made the dragon an 

Example to all dragons. [France ; 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 56 

Brave Warwick Guy, at dinner time, 

Challeng'd a gyant savage ; 
And streight came out the unwieldy lout 

Brim-full of wrath and cabbage : 60 

He had a phiz of latitude, 

And was full thick i' th' middle ; 
The cheeks of puffed trumpeter, 

And paunch of squire Beadle*. 



* Men of bulk answerable to their places, as is well known 
at Oxford. 



But the knight fell'd him like an oak, 65 

And did upon his back tread ; 
The valiant knight his weazon cut, 

And Atropos his packthread. 
Besides he fought with a dun cow, 

As say the poets witty, 70 

A dreadful dun, and horned too, 

Like dun of Oxford city : 
The fervent dog-days made her mad, 

By causing heat of weather, 
Syrius and Procyon baited her, 75 

As bull-dogs did her father : 
Grasiers, nor butchers this fell beast. 

E'er of her frolick hindred ; 
John Dosset* she'd knock down as flat. 

As John knocks down her kindred : 80 

Her heels would lay ye all along, 

And kick into a swoon ; 
Frewin's f cow-heels keep up your corpse, 

But hers would beat you down. 
She vanquish t many a sturdy wight, 85 

And proud was of the honour ; 
Was puflt by mauling butchers so, 

As if themselves had blown her. 
At once she kickt, and pusht at Guy, 

But all that would not fright him ; 90 

Who wav'd his winyard o'er sir-loyn, 

As if he'd gone to knight him. 
He let her blood, frenzy to cure, 

And eke he did her gall rip ; 
His trenchant blade, like cook's long spit, 95 

Ran thro' the monster's bald-rib : 
He rear'd up the vast crooked rib, 

Instead of arch triumphal : 
But George hit th' dragon such a pelt, 

As made him on his bum fall. 100 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

Tamerlain, with Tartarian bow, 

The Turkish squadrons slew ; 
And fetch'd the pagan crescent down, 105 

With half-moon made of yew : 
His trusty bow proud Turks did gall 

With showers of arrows thick, 
And bow-strings, without strangling, sent 

Grand- Visiers to old Nick : 13 

Much turbants, and much Pagan pates 

He made to humble in dust ; 
And heads of Saracens he fixt 

On spear, as on a sign-post : 
He coop'd in cage Bajazet the prop 115 

Of Mahomet's religion, 
As if 't had been the whispering bird, 

That prompted him, the pigeon. 
In Turkey-leather scabbard, he 

Did sheath his blade so trenchant : 120 

But George he swing'd the dragon's tail, 

And cut off every inch on't. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 



The amazon Thalestris was 
Both beautiful and bold ; 



125 



* A butcher that then served the college. 
t A cook, who on fast nights was famous for selling cow- 
heel and tripe. 

T 



ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 



130 



135 



140 



She sear'd her breasts with iron hot, 

And bang'd her foes with cold, 
Her hand was like the tool, wherewith 

Jove keeps proud mortals under : 
It shone just like his lightning, 

And batter'd like hi.s thunder. 
Her eve darts lightning, that would blast 

The proudest lie that swagger'd 
And melt the rapier of his soul, 

In its corporeal scabbard. 
Her beauty, and her drum to foes 

Did cause amazement double ; 
As timorous larks amazed are 

With light, and with a low-bell : 
With beauty, and that lapland-charm*, 

Poor men she did bewitch all ; 
Still a blind whining lover had, 

As Pallas had her scrich-owl. 
She kept the chastness of a nun 145 

In armour, as in cloyster : 
But George undid the dragon just 

As you'd undo an oister. [France; 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

Sing, Honi soit qui mat y pense. 150 

Stout Hercules was offspring of 

Great Jove and fair Alcmene : 
One part of him celestial was, 

One part of him terrene. 
To scale the hero's cradle walls 155 

Two fiery snakes combin'd, 
And, curling into swaddling cloaths, 

About the infant twin'd ; 
But. he put out these dragons' fires, 

And did their hissing stop ; 160 

As red-hot iron with hissing noise 

Is quencht in blacksmith's shop. 
He cleans'd a stable, and rubb'd down 

The horses of new-comers ; 
And out of horse-dung he rais'd fame 165 

As Tom Wrench t does cucumbers. 
He made a river help him through ; 

Alpheus was under-groom ; 
The stream, disgust, at office mean, 

Ran murmuring thro' the room : 170 

This liquid ostler to prevent 

Being tired with that long work, 
His father Neptune's trident took, 

Instead of three-tooth'd dung-fork. 
This Hercules, as soldier, and 175 

As spinster, could take pains ; 
His club would sometimes spin ye flax, 

And sometimes knock out brains : 
II' was fore'd to spin his miss a shift 

By Juno's wrath and her-spite ; 180 

Fair Omphale whipt him to his wheel, 

As cook whips barking turn-spit. 
From man, or churn, he well knew how 

To get him lasting fame : 
He'd pound a giant, till the blood, 185 

And milk till butter came. 
Often he fought with huge battoon, 

And oftentimes he boxed ; 
Tapt a fresh monster once a month, 

As Herveyt doth fresh hogshead. 190 

He gave Anteus such a hug, 

As wrestlers give in Cornwall : 



• Tlie drum. 

t \Y ho k< pt Paradise gardens at Oxford. 

J A. noted drawer at the Mermaid tavern in Oxford. 



But George he did the dragon kill, 

As dead as any door-nail. [France; 

St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for 

Sing, Honi soit qui mat y pense. 196 

The Gemini, sprung from an egg, 

Were put into a cradle : 
Their brains with knocks and bottled-ale, 

Were often-times full addle : 200 

And, scarcely hatch'd, these sons of him, 

That hurls the bolt trisulcate, 
With helmet-shell on tender head, 

Did tustle with red-ey'd pole-cat, 
Castor a horseman, Pollux tho' 205 

A boxer was, I wist : 
The one was fam'd for iron heel ; 

Th' other for leaden fist. 
Pollux to shew he was a god, 

When he was in a passion 210 

With fist made noses fall down flat 

By way of adoration : 
This fist, as sure as French disease, 

Demolish'd noses' ridges : 
He, like a certain lord* was fam'd 215 

For breaking down of bridges. 
Castor the flame of fiery steed, 

With well-spur'd boots took down ; 
As men, with leathern buckets, quench 

A fire in country town. 220 

His famous horse, that liv'd on oats, 

Is sung on oaten quill ; 
By bards' immortal provender 

The nag surviveth still. 
This shelly brood on none but knaves 225 

Employ'd their brisk artillery : 
And flew as naturally at rogues. 

As eggs at thief in pillory f. 
Much sweat they spent in furious fight, 

Much blood they did effund : 230 

Their whites they vented thro' the pores ; 

Their yolks thro' gaping wound ; 
Then both were cleans'd from blood and dust 

To make a heavenly sign ; 
The lads were, like their armour, scowr'd, 23') 

And then hung up to shine ; 
Such were the heavenly double-Dicks 

The sons of Jove and Tyndar : 
But George he cut the dragon up, 

As he had bin duck or windar. 240 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. [France ; 



245 



Gorgon a twisted adder wore 

For knot upon her shoulder : 
She kemb'd her hissing periwig, 

And curling snakes did powder. 
These snakes they made stiff changelings 

Of all the folks they hist on ; 
They turned barbars into hones, 

And mason's into free-stone : 250 

Sworded magnetic Amazon 

Her shield to load-stone changes ; 



• Lord Lovelace brook down the bridges about Oxford, at 
the beginning <»f 'lie Revolution. See on this subject a 
ballad in Smith's Poems, i>. un. Lond. 17 13. 

+ It has been suggested by an ingenious correspondent 
that this was a popular subject at that time : 
Not carted Bawd, or Dan de Foe, 
In wooden Itulf ere blUSter'd so. 

Smith's Poems, p. 117. 



st. gp:orge for England. 



275 



Then amorous sword by magic belt 

Clung fast unto her haunches. 
This shield long- village did protect, 

And kept the army from town, 
And chang'd the bullies into rocks, 

That came t' invade Long-Compton*. 
She post-diluvian stores unmans, 

And Pyrrha's work unravels , 
And stares Deucalion's hardy boys 

Into their primitive pebbles. 
Red noses she to rubies turns, 

And noddles into bricks : 
But George made dragon laxative ; 

And gave him a bloody flix. 



255 



260 



265 
[France ; 



St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

By boar-spear Meleager got 

An everlasting name, 270 

And out of haunch of basted swine, 

He hew'd eternal fame. 
This beast each hero's trouzers ript, 

And rudely shew'd his bare-breech, 
Prickt but the wem, and out there came 275 

Heroic guts and garbadge. 
Legs were secur'd by iron boots 

No more than peas by peascods : 
Brass helmets, with inclosed sculls, 

Wou'd crackle in's mouth like chesnuts. 280 
His tawny hairs erected were 

By rage, that was resistless ; 
And wrath, instead of cobler's wax, 

Did stiffen his rising bristles. 
His tusk lay'd dogs so dead asleep, 285 

Nor horn, nor whip cou'd wake 'um : 
It made them vent both their last blood, 

And their last album-grecum. 
But the knight gor'd him with his spear, 

To make of him a tame one, 290 

And arrows thick, instead of cloves, 

He stuck in monster's gammon. 
For monumental pillar, that 

His victory might be known, 
He rais'd up, in cylindric form, 295 

A collar of the brawn. 
He sent his shade to shades below, 

In Stygian mud to wallow ; 
And eke the stout St. George eftsoon, 

He made the dragon follow. 300 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. [France ; 

Achilles of old Chiron learnt 

The great horse for to ride ; 
H' was taught by th' Centaur's rational part, 305 

The hinnible to bestride. 
Bright silver feet, and shining face 

Had that stout hero's mother ; 
As rapier 's silver 'd at one end, 

And wounds you at the other. 310 

Her feet were bright, his feet were swift, 

As hawk pursuing sparrow : 
Her's had the metal, his the speed 

Of Braburn'sf silver arrow. 



* See the account of Rolricht Stones, in Dr. Plolt's Hist 
of Oxfordshire. 

+ Brad burn, a gentleman commoner of Lincoln college, 
gave a silver arrow to be shot for by the archers of the 
university of Oxford. 



Thetis to double pedagogue 315 

Commits her dearest boy ; 
Who bred him from a slender twig 

To be the scourge of Troy ; 
But ere he lasht the Trojans, h' was 

In Stygian waters sleept; 320 

As birch is soaked first in piss, 

When boys are to be whipt. 
With skin exceeding hard, he rose 

From lake, so black and muddy, 
As lobsters from the ocean rise, 325 

With shell about their body : 
And, as from lobster's broken claw, 

Pick out the fish you might ; 
So might you from one unshell'd heel 

Dig pieces of the knight. 330 

His myrmidons robb'd Priam's barns 

And hen-roosts, says the song ; 
Carried away both corn and eggs, 

Like ants from whence they sprung. 
Himself tore Hector's pantaloons, 335 

And sent him down bare-breech'd 
To pedant Radamanthus, in 

A posture to be switch 'd. 
But George he made the dragon look, 

As if he had been bewitch'd. 340 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. [France ; 



Full fatal to the Romans was 

The Carthaginian Hanni- 
bal ; him I mean, who gave them such 345 

A devilish thump at Cannag : 
Moors thick, as goats on Penmenmure, 

Stood on the Alpes's front : 
Their one-eyed guide*, like blinking mole, 

Bor'd thro' the hind'ring mount : 350 

Who, baffled by the massy rock, 

Took vinegar for relief ; 
Like plowmen, when they hew their way 

Thro' stubborn rump of beef. 
As dancing louts from humid toes 355 

Cast atoms of ill savour 
To blinking Hyatt f, when on vile crowd 

He merriment does endeavour, 
And saws from suffering timber out 

Some wretched tune to quiver : 360 

So Romans stunk and squeak'd at sight 

Of Affrican carnivor. 
The tawny surface of his phiz 

Did serve instead of vizzard : 
But George he made the dragon have 365 

A grumbling in his gizzard. [ France ; 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

The valour of Domitian, 

It must not be forgotten ; 370 

Who from the jaws of worm-blowing flies, 

Protected veal and mutton. 
A squadron of flies errant, 

Against the foe appears ; 
With regiments of buzzing knights, 375 

And swarms of volunteers : 



* Hannibal had but one eye. 
t A one-eyed fellow, who protended to make fiddles, as jj 
well as play on them ; well known at that time in Oxford. 



276 



MARGARET'S GHOST. 



The warlike wasp encourag'd 'em 
With animating hum ; 

Ami the loud hrazen hornet next, 
He was their kettle-drum : 



.130 



The Spanish Don Cantharido 

Did him most sorely pester, 
And rais'd on skin of vent'rous knight 

Full many a plaguy blister. 
A bee whipt thro' his button-hole, 385 

As thro' key-hole a witch, 
And stabb'd him with her little tuck. 

Drawn out of scabbard breech : 
But the undaunted knight lifts up 

An arm both big and brawny, 390 

And slasht her so, that here lay head, 

And there lay bag and honey : 
Then 'mongst the rout he flew as swift, 

As weapon made by Cyclops, 
And bravely quell'd seditious buz, 395 

By dint of massy fly-flops. 
Surviving flies do curses breathe, 

And maggots too at Caesar: 
But George he shav'd the dragon's beard, 

And Askelon * was his razor. 400 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. [France ; 

John Grubb, the facetious writer of the foregoing 
song, makes a distinguished figure among the Ox- 
ford wits so humorously enumerated in the follow- 
ing distich : 

Alma novem genuit cedebres Rhedycina poetas 
Bub, Stubb, Grubb, Crabb, Trap, Young, 
Carey, Tickel, Evans. 

These were Bub Dodington (the late Lord Mel- 
combe,) Dr. Stubbes, our poet Grubb, Mr. Crabb, 
Dr. Trapp, the poetry-professor, Dr. Edw. Young, 
the author of Night-Thoughts, Walter Carey, 



Thomas Tickel, Esq. and Dr. Evans the epigram- 
matist. 

As for our poet Grubb, all that we can learn fur- 
ther of him, is contained in a few extracts from the 
University Register, and from his epitaph. It ap- 
pears from the former that he was matriculated in 
1667, being the son of John Grubb, " de Acton 
Burnel in comitatu Salop, pauperis." He took his 
degree of Bachelor of Arts, June 28, 1671: and 
became Master of Arts, June 28, 1675. He was 
appointed Head Master of the Grammar School at 
Christ Church ; and afterwards chosen into the 
same employment at Gloucester, where he died in 
1697, as appears from his monument in the church 
of St. Mary de Crypt in Gloucester, which is in- 
scribed with the following epitaph : 

H. S. E. 

Johannes Grubb, A.M. 

Natus apud Acton Burnel in agro Salopiensi 

Anno Dom. 1645. 

Cujus variam in linguis notitiam, 

et felicem erudiendis pueris industriam, 

grata adhuc memoria testatur Oxonium. 

Ibi enim ^Edi Christi initiatus, 

artes excoluit : 

Pueros ad easdem mox excolendas 

accurate formavit : 

Hue demum 

unanimi omnium consensu accitus, 

eandem suscepit J provinciam, 

quam feliciter adeo absolvit, 

ut nihil optandum sit 

nisi ut diutius nobis interfuisset ? 

Fuit enim 
propter festivam ingenii suavitatem, 
simplicem morum candorem, et 
praecipuam erga cognatos benevolentiam 

omnibus desideratissimus, 

Obiit 2do die Aprilis, Anno D'ni, 1697, 

iEtatis suae 51. 



XVI. 



MARGARET'S GHOST. 



This ballad, which appeared in some of the public 
newspapers in or before the year 1724, came from 
the pen of David Mallet, Esq. who in the edition of 
his poems, 3 vols. 1759, informs us that the plan was 
suggested by the four verses quoted above in page 
225, which he supposed to be the beginning of some 
ballad now lost. 

" These lines, says he, naked of ornament and 
simple as they are, struck my fancy; and bringing 
fresh into my mind an unhappy adventure much 
talked of formerly, gave birth to the following 
poem, which was written many years ago." 

The two introductory lines (and one or two 
others elsewhere) had originally more of the ballad 
simplicity, viz. 

" When all was wrapt in dark midnight, 
And all were fast asleep/' &c. 

• The name of St. George's sword. 



' was at the silent solemn hour, 
When night and morning meet ; 

In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, 
And stood at William's feet. 

Her face was like an April morn, 

Clad in a wintry cloud : 
And clay-cold was her lily hand, 

That held her sable shrowd. 

So shall the fairest face appear, 
When youth and years are flown : 

Such is the robe that kings must wear, 
When death has reft their crown. 

Her bloom was like the springing flower, 

Thai sips the silver dew ; 
The rose was budded in her cheek, 

Just opening to the view. 



10 



ii 



LUCY AND COLIN. 



277 



But love had, like the canker-worm, 

Consum'd her early prime : 
The rose grew pale, and left her cheek ; 

She dy'd before her time. 20 

" Awake !" she cry'd, " thy true love calls, 

Come from her midnight grave ; 
Now let thy pity hear the maid 

Thy love refus'd to save. 

" This is the dark and dreary hour 25 

When injur 'd ghosts complain ; 
Now yawning graves give up their dead, 

To haunt the faithless swain. 

" Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, 

Thy pledge and broken oath : 30 

And give me back my maiden vow, 
And give me back my troth. 

" Why did you promise love to me, 

And not that promise keep ? 
Why did you swear mine eyes were bright, 35 

Yet leave those eyes to weep 1 

" How could you say my face was fair, 

And yet that face forsake ? 
How could you win my virgin heart, 

Yet leave that heart to break ? 40 

" Why did you say my lip was sweet, 

And made the scarlet pale ? 
And why did I, young Avitless maid 

Believe the flattering tale 1 

" That face, alas ! no more is fair ; 45 

These lips no longer red : 
Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death, 

And every charm is fled. 



*' The hungry worm my sister is ; 

This winding-sheet I wear : 50 

And cold and weary lasts our night, 

Till that last morn appear. 

" But hark ! the cock has warn'd me hence ! 

A long and last adieu ! 
Come see, false man, how low she lies, 55 

Who died for love of you." 

The lark sung loud ; the morning smil'd 

With beams of rosy red : 
Pale William shook in ev'ry limb, 

And raving left his bed. 60 

He hyed him to the fatal place 

Where Margaret's body lay : 
And stretch'd him on the grass-green turf, 

That wrapt her breathless clay : 

And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name, 65 

And thrice he wept full sore : 
Then laid his cheek to her cold grave, 

And word spake never more. 

*** In a late publication, intitled " The Friends, 
&c." Lond. 1773, 2 vols. 12mo, (in the first volume) 
is inserted a copy of the foregoing ballad, with very 
great variations, which the Editor of that work con- 
tends was the original ; and that Mallet adopted it 
for his own, and altered it, as here given. — But the 
superior beauty and simplicity of the present copy 
gives it so much more the air of an original, that it 
will rather be believed that some transcriber altered 
it from Mallet's, and adapted the lines to his own 
taste ; than which nothing is more common in popu- 
lar songs and ballads. 



XVII. 



LUCY AND COLIN. 



was written by Thomas Tickell, Esq. the cele- 
brated friend of Mr. Addison, and Editor of his 
works. He was the son of a Clergyman in the North 
of England ; had his education at Qiieen's College, 
Oxon ; was under-secretary to Mr. Addison and Mr. 
Craggs, when successively secretaries of state ; and 
was lastly (in June 1724) appointed secretary to 
the Lords Justices in Ireland, which place he held 
till his death in 1740. He acquired Mr. Addison's 
patronage by a poem in praise of the opera of Rosa- 
mond, written while he was at the University. 

It is a tradition in Ireland, that this song was 
written at Castletown, in the county of Kildare, 
at the request of the then Mrs. Conolly — probably 
on some event recent in that neighbourhood. 

Of Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair, 

Bright Lucy was the grace ; 
Nor e'er did Lifly's limpid stream 

Reflect so fair a face. 

Till luckless love and pining care 5 

Impair'd her rosy hue, 
Her coral lip, and damask cheek, 

And eyes of glossy blue. 



Oh ! have you seen a lily pale, 
When beating rains descend ? 

So droop'd the slow-consuming maid : 
Her life now near its end. 

By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains 

Take heed, ye easy fair : 
Of vengeance due to broken vows, 

Ye perjured swains beware. 

Three times, all in the dead of night, 
A bell was heard to ring ; 

And at her window, shrieking thrice, 
The raven flap'd his wing. 

Too well the love-lorn maiden knew 
That solemn boding sound ; 

And thus in dying words, bespoke 
The virgins weeping round. 

" I hear a voice you cannot hear, 
Which says, I must not stay : 

I see a hand you cannot see, 
Which beckons me away. 



10 



15 



25 






i hi; boy and the mantle. 



•' By B false heart, and broken vows, 

In early youth I die. 30 

Am I to blame, because his bride 

Is thrice as rich as I ? 

" Ah Colin ! give not her thy vows ; 

Vows due to me alone : 
Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, 35 

Nor think him all thy own. 

" To-morrow in the church to wed, 

Impatient, both prepare ; 
But know, fond maid, and know, false 

That Lucy wdl be there. 40 

" Then, bear my corse, ye comrades, bear, 

The bridegroom blithe to meet ; 
He in his wedding-trim so gay, 

I in my winding sheet." 

She spoke, she died ; — her corse was borne, 45 

The bridegroom blithe to meet ; 
He in his wedding-trim so gay, 

She in her winding-sheet. 

Then what were perjured Colin's thoughts? 
How were those nuptials kept 1 50 



The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead, 
And all the village wept. 

Confusion, shame, remorse, despair, 

At once his bosom swell : 
The damps of death bedew'd his brow, 55 

He shook, he groan'd, he fell. 

From the vain bride (ah, bride no more !) 

The varying crimson fled, 
When, stretch'd before her rival's corse, 

She saw her husband dead. 60 

Then to his Lucy's new-made grave, 

Convev'd by trembling swains, 
One mould with her beneath one sod, 

For ever now remains. 

Oft at their grave the constant hind 65 

And plighted maid are seen ; 
With garlands gay, and true-love knots, 

They deck the sacred green. 

But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art, 

This hallow'd spot forbear ; 70 

Remember Colin's dreadful fate, 
And fear to meet him there. 



XVIII. 

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 



AS REVISED AND ALTERED BY A MODERN HAND. 



Mr. Warton, in his ingenious Observations on 
Spenser, has given his opinion, that the fiction of the 
"Boy and the Mantle " is taken from an old French 
piece entitled " Le Court Mantel," quoted by M. de 
St. Palaye, in his curious "Memoires sur l'ancienne 
Chevalerie," Paris, 1759, 2 torn. 12mo ; who tells 
us the story resembles that of Ariosto's inchanted 
cup. 'Tis possible our English poet may have taken 
the hint of this subject from that old French romance ; 
but he does not appear to have copied it in the man- 
ner of execution : to which (if one may judge from 
the specimen given in the Memoires) that of the 
Ballad does not bear the least resemblance. After all, 
'tis most likely that all the old stories concerning 
King Arthur are originally of British growth, and 
that what the French and other Southern nations 
have of this kind were at first exported from this 
island. See Memoires de l'Acad. des. Inscrip. torn. 
xx. p. 352. l 

In the " Fabliaux ou Contes," 1701, 5 torn. 12mo, 
of M. Le Grand (torn. I. p. 54), is printed a modern 
\ anion of the Old Tale Le Court Mantel, under a 
new title, Le Manteau maltailU, which contains the 
story of this Ballad much enlarged, so far as regards 
the Mantle, but without any mention of the Knife or 
the Horn. 

In Carlcile dwelt King Arthur, 
A prince of passing might ; 

And there maintain'd his table round, 
Beset with many a knight 



And there he kept his Christmas 5 

With mirth and princely cheare, 
When, lo ! a straunge and cunning boy 

Before him did appeare. 

A kirtle and a mantle 

This boy had him upon, 10 

With brooches, rings, and owches, 

Full daintily bedone. 

He had a sarke of silk 

About his middle meet ; 
And thus, with seemely curtesy, 15 

He did King Arthur' greet. 

" God speed thee, brave King Arthur, 

Thus feasting in thy bowre ; 
And Guenever thy goodly queen, 

That fair and peerlesse flowre. 20 

" Ye gallant lords, and lordings, 

I wish you all take heed, 
Lest, what you deem a blooming rose 

Should prove a cankred weed." 

Then strait way from his bosome 25 

A little wand he drew; 
And with it eke a mantle 

Of wondrous shape and hew. 



THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 



279 



" Now have thou here, King Arthur, 

Have this here of mee, 
And give unto thy comely queen, 

All-shapen as you see. 

" No wife it shall hecome, 

That once hath heen to blame." 

Then every knight in Arthur's court 
Slye glaunced at his dame. 

And first came Lady Guenever, 

The mantle she must trye, 
This dame, she was new-fangled, 

And of a roving eye. 

When she had tane the mantle, 

And all was with it cladde, 
From top to toe it shiver'd down, 

As tho' with sheers beshradde. 

One while it was too long, 

Another while too short, 
And wrinkled on her shoulders 

In most unseemly sort, 

Now green, now red it seemed, 

Then all of sable hue. 
" Beshrew me quoth King Arthur, 

I think thou beest not true." 

Down she threw the mantle, 

Ne longer would not stay ; 
But storming like a fury, 

To her chamber flung away. 

She curst the whoreson weaver, 
That had the mantle wrought : 

And doubly curst the froward impe, 
Who thither had it brought. 

"I had rather live in desarts 
Beneath the green-wood tree : 

Than here, base king, among thy groomes, 
The sport of them and thee." 

Sir Kay call'd forth his lady, 

And bade her to come near : 
" Yet dame if thou be guilty, 

I pray thee now forbear." 

This lady, pertly gigling, 

With forward step came on, 
And boldly to the little boy 

With fearless face is gone. 

When she had tane the mantle, 

With purpose for to wear : 
It shrunk up to her shoulder, 

And left her b**side bare. 

Then every merry knight, 

That was in Arthur's court, 
Gib'd and laught, and flouted, 

To see that pleasant sport. 

Downe she threw the mantle, 

No longer bold or gay, 
But with a face all pale and wan, 

To her chamber slunk away. 



30 



35 



40 



Ab 



50 



60 



65 



70 



80 



Then forth came an old knight, 85 

A pattering o'er his creed ; 
And proffered to the little boy 

Five nobles to his meed ; 

" And all the time of Christmass 

Plumb-porridge shall be thine, 90 

If thou wilt let my lady fair 

Within the mantle shine." 

A saint his lady seemed, 

With step demure and slow, 
And gravely to the mantle 95 

With mincing pace doth goe. 

When she the same had taken, 

That was so fine and thin 
It shrivell'd all about her, 

And show'd her dainty skin 100 

Ah ! little did her mincing, 

Or his long prayers bestead ; 
She had no more hung on her, 

Than a tassel and a thread. 

Down she threwe the mantle, 105 

With terror and dismay, 
And, with a face of scarlet, 

To her chamber hyed away. 

Sir Cradock call'd his lady, 

And bade her to come neare , 1 10 

" Come win this mantle, lady, 

And do me credit here. 

" Come win this mantle, lady, 

For now it shall be thine, 
If thou hast never done amiss, 115 

Sith first I made thee mine." 

The lady gently blushing, 

With modest grace came on, 
And now to trye the wondrous charm 

Courageously is gone. 120 

When she had tane the mantle, 

And put it on her backe, 
About the hem it seemed 

To wrinkle and to cracke. 

" Lye still," shee cryed, " O mantle ! 125 

And shame me not for nought, 
I'll freely own whate'er amiss, 

Or blameful I have wrought. 

" Once I kist Sir Cradocke 

Beneathe the green wood tree : 130 

Once I kist Sir Cradocke's mouth 

Before he married mee." 

When thus she had her shriven, 

And her worst fault had told, 
The mantle soon became her 135 

Right comely as it shold. 

Most rich and fair of colour, 

Like gold it glittering shone . 
And much the knights in Arthur's court 

Admir'd her every one. HO 






I UK AM 1K.NT FRAGMENT OF THK MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAIXE. 



Then towards King Arthur's table 

The boy he turnd bta eye : 
Where stood a hoar's head garnished 

With bayes and rosemarye. 

Wheil thrice he o'er the boar's head 1 15 

His little wand had drawne, 
Quoth he, " There's never a cuckold's knife 

Can carve this head of brawne." 

Then some their whittles rubbed 

On whetstone, and on hone : 150 

Some threwe them under the table, 

And swore that they had none. 

Sir Cradock had a little knife, 

Of steel and iron made ; 
And in an instant thro' the skull 155 

He thrust the shining blade 

He thrust the shining blade 

Full easily and fast ; 
And every knight in Arthurs court 

A morsel had to taste, 160 

The boy brought forth a borne, 

All golden was the rim : 
Said he, " No cuckolde ever can 

Set mouth unto the brim. 

" No cuckold can this little home 165 

Lift fairly to his head ; 
But or on this, or that side, 

He shall the liquor shed." 

Some shed it on their shoulder, 

Some shed it on their thigh ; I/O 

And bee that could not hit bis mouth, 

Was sure to bit bis eye. 

Thus he, that was a cuckold, 

Was known of every man : 
But Cradock lifted easily, 175 

And wan the golden can. 

Thus boar's head, horn and mantle, 

Were this fair couple's meed : 
And all such constant lovers, 

God send them well to speed. 180 

Then down in rage came Guenever, 

And thus could spightful say, 
" Sir Cradock's wife most wrongfully 

Hath borne the prize away. 



" See yonder shameless woman, 185 

That makes herselfe so clean : 
Yet from her pillow taken 

Thrice five gallants have been. 

" Priests, clarkes, and wedded men, 

Have her lewd pillow prest : 190 

Yet she the wondorous prize forsooth 

Must beare from all the rest." 



Then bespake the little boy, 

Who had the same in hold : 
" Chastize thy wife, King Arthur, 195 

Of speech she is too bold : 



" Of speech she is too bold, 

Of carriage all too free ; 
Sir king, she hath within thy hall 

A cuckold made of thee. £00 



" All frolick light and wanton 
She hath her carriage borne : 

And given thee for a kingly crown 
To wear a cuckold's borne." 



*„* The Rev. Evan Evans, editor of the Speci- 
mens of Welsh Poetry, 4to, affirmed that the story 
of the " Boy and the Mantle," is taken from what is 
related in some of the old Welsh MSS, of Tegan 
Earfron, one of King Arthur's mistresses. She is 
said to have possessed a mantle that would not fit 
any immodest or incontinent woman ; this (which 
the old writers say, was reckoned among the curio- 
sities of Britain) is frequently alluded to by the old 
Welsh Bards. 

Carleile, so often mentioned in the Ballads of 
King Arthur, the editor once thought might probably 
be a corruption of Caer-eeon, an ancient British 
rity on the river Uske, in Monmouthshire, which 
was one of the places of King Arthurs chief residence; 
but he is now convinced that it is no other than 
Carlisle, in Cumberland ; the old English Minstrels, 
being most of them Northern men, naturally repre- 
sented the Hero of Romance as residing in the 
North : and many of the places mentioned in the 
Old Ballads are still to be found there ; as Tearne- 
Wadling, &c. 

Near Penrith is still seen a large circle, sur- 
rounded bv a mound of earth, which retains the 
name of Arthur's Round Table. 



XTX. 
THE ANCIENT FRAGMENT OF THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 



The Second Poem in the third Series, intitled " The 
Marriage of Sir Gaweine, Baring been offered t<> the 
Reader with large conjectural Supplements and Cor- 
rections, die old Fragment itself is here literally, 

and exactly printed from the Editor's folio MS. 



with all its defects, inaccuracies, and errata j that 
such austere Antiquaries as complain that the ancient 
copies have not been always rigidly adhered to may 
see how unfit for publication many of the pieces 
would have been if all the blunders, corruptions, and 



THE ANCIENT FRAGMENT OF THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 



981 



nonsense of illiterate Reciters and Transcribers Lad 
been superstitiously retained, without some attempt 
to correct and amend them. 

Ibis Ballad had most unfortunately suffered by 
having half of every leaf in this part oft.be MS. torn 
away -, and, as about nine stanzas generally occur 
in the half-page now remaining, it is concluded that 
the other half contained nearly the same number of 
stanzas. 

Kinge Arthur liues in merry Carleile 
and seemely is to see 

and there he hath wth him Queene Genevr 
yt bride so bright of blee 

And there he hath wth him Queene Genever 

yt bride soe bright in bower 

6c all his barons about him stoode 

yt were both stiffe and stowre 



The K. kept a royall Christmasse 
of mirth & great honor 
► . when . . 

[About Nine Stanzas wanting.] 
And bring me word what thing it is 
ye a woman most desire 
this shalbe thy ran some Arthur he sayes 
for lie haue noe other hier 

K. Arthur then held vp his hand 
according thene as was the law 
he tooke his leaue of the baron there 
and homword can he draw 



And when he came to Merry Carlile 

to his chamber he is gone 

And ther came to him his Cozen Sr Gawaine 

as he did make his mone 



And there came to him his Cozen Sr Gawaine* 
yt was a curteous knight 
why sigh you soe sore vnckle Arthur he said 
or who hath done the vnright 



O peace o peace thou gentle Gawaine 
yt faire may thee be ffall 
for if thou knew my sighing soe deepe 
thou wold not meruaile att all 



Ffor when I came to tearne wadling 
a bold barron there I fand 
wth a great club vpon his backe 
stan dins: stiffe & strong: 



And he asked me wether I wold fight 
or from him I shold be gone 
o t else I must him a ransome pay 
& soe dep't him from 

To fight wth bi m I saw noe ca use 
me thought it was not meet 
for he was stiffe & strong wth all 
his strokes were nothing sweete 



Therfor this is my ransome Gawaine 
I ought to him to pay 
I must come againe as I am sworne 
vpon the Newyeers day 



Sic. 



f Sic. 



And I must bring him word what thing it is 

[About Nine Stanzas wanting.] 



Then King Arthur drest him for to ryde 
in one soe rich array 
towards the foresaid Tearne wadling 
yt he might keepe his day 



And as he rode over a more 
hee see a lady where shee sate 
betwixt an oke and a greene hollen 
she was cladd in red scarlett 

Then there as shold have stood her mouth 

then there was sett her eye 

the other was in her forhead fast 

the way that she might see 

Her nose was crooked & tvrnd outward 
her mouth stood foule a wry 
a worse formed lady thee shee was 
neuerman saw wth his eye 

To halch vpon him k. Arthur 
this lady was full faine 
but k. Arthur had forgott his lesson 
what he should say againe 



What knight art thou the lady sayd 
that wilt not speake tome 
of me thou nothing dismayd 
tho I be vgly to see 



for I haue halched you courteouslye 
& you will not me againe 
yett I may happen Sr knight shee said 
to ease thee of thy paine 

Giue thou ease me lady he said 

or helpe me any thing 

thou shalt haue gentle Gawaine my cozen 

& marry him wth a ring 



Why if I helpe thee not thou noble k. Arthur 
of thy owne hearts desiringe 

of gentle Gawaine 

[About Nine S 4 .anzas wanting.] 



And when he came to the tearne wadling 
the baron there cold he srinde * 
wth a great weapon on his backe 
standing stiffe & stronge 



And then be tooke k. Arthurs letters in his hands 

& away he cold them fling 

& then he puld out a good browne sword 

& cryd himselfe a k. 

And he sayd I haue thee & and thy land Arthur 

to doe as it pleaseth me 

for this is not thy ransome sure 

therfore yeeld thee to me 



And then bespoke him noble Arthur 
& bade him hold his hands 
& give me leave to speake my mind 
in defence of all my land 



Sic MS. 



582 THE ANCIENT FRAGMENT OF Tl 




tE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 


the • said as I came over a More 


Then shee said choose thee gentle Gawaine 


I see a lady where shee sate 


truth as 1 doe say 


bt-tweene an oke <Sc a green hollen 


wether thou wilt haue me in this liknesse 


shee was clad in red scarlette 

And she says a woman will haue her will 


in the night or else in the day 


And then bespake him Gentle Gawaine 


& this is all her cheef desire 


wtn one soe mild of moode 


doe me right as thou art a baron of sckill 


saves well I know what I wold say 


this is thy ransome 6c all thy hyer 


god grant it may be good 

To haue thee fowle in the night 


He saves an early vengeance light on her 


she walkes on yonder more 


when I wth thee shold play 


it was my sister that told thee this 


yet I had rather if I might 


she is a misshappen hore 


haue thee fowle in the day 


But heer He make mine avow to god 


What when Lords goe wth ther seires * shee said 


to do her an euill turne 


both to the Ale and wine 


for an euer I may thate fowle theefe get 


alas then I must hyde my selfe 


in a fyer I will her burne 

[About Nine Stanzas wanting.] 


I must not goe withinne 


And then bespake him gentle gawaine 




said Lady thats but a skill 


THE SECOND PART. 


And because thou art my owne lady 


Sir Lancelott & sr Steven bold 
they rode wth them that day 
and the formost of the company 


thou shalt haue all thy will 




Then she said blesed be thou gentle Gawaine 


there rode the steward Kay 


this day yt I thee see 




for as thou see me att this time 


Soe did Sr Banier & Sr Bore 


from hencforth I wilbe 


Sr Garrett wth them so gay 





soe did Sr Tristeram yt gentle kt 


My father was an old knight 


to the forrest fresh & gay 


& yett it chanced soe 




that he marryed a younge lady 
yt brought me to this woe 


And when he came to the greene forrest 


vnderneath a greene holly tree 





their sate that lady in red scarlet 
yt vnseemly was to see 


Shee witched me being a faire young Lady 

to the greene forrest to dwell 

& there I must walke in womans liknesse 




Sr Kay beheld this Ladys face 


most like a feeind of hell 


& looked vppon her suire 
whosoeuer kisses this lady he sayes 
of his kisse he stands in feare 




She witched my brother to a Carlist B . . . . 




[About Nine Stanzas wanting.'] 




Sr Kay beheld the lady againe 
& looked vpon her snout 




that looked soe foule & that was wont 


whosoeuer kisses this lady he saies 


on the wild more to goe 


of his kisse he stands in doubt 







Come kisse her Brother Kay then said S r Gawaine 
& amend the of thy liffe 


Peace coz. Kay then said Sr Gawaine 


amend thee of thy life 


I sweare this is the same lady 


for there is a knight amongst us all 


yt I marryed to my wiffe. 


yt must marry her to his wife 






Sr Kay kissed that lady bright 
standing vpon his ffeete 


What wedd her to wiffe then said Sr Kay 


in the diuells name anon 


he swore as he was trew knight 


gett me a wiffe where ere I may 


the spice was neuer so sweete 


for I had rather be slaine 


■ 


Then soome tooke vp their hawkes in hast 


Well Coz. Gawaine says Sr Kay 
thy chance is fallen anight 


& some tooke vp their hounds 

& some sware they wold not marry her 

for Citty nor for towno 


for thou hast gotten one of the fairest maids 
I euer saw wth my sight 


And then be spake him noble k. Arthur 


It is my fortune said S r Gawaine 


& sware there by this day 


for my Vnckle Arthurs sake 


for a litle foule sight & misliking 


I am glad as grasse wold be of raine 


[About Nine Stomal wanting^] 


great Joy that 1 may take 


• Sic MS. 


• Sic In MS. pro feire$, i. e. Mate*. 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 



S83 



Sr Gawaine tooke the lady by the one arme 
Sr Kay tooke her by the tother 
they led her straight to k. Arthur 
as they were brother & brother 

K. Arthur welcomed them there all 
& soe did lady Geneuer his queene 
wth all the knights of the round table 
most seemly to be seene 



K. Arthur beheld that lady faire 
that was so faire & bright 



he thanked christ in trinity 

for Si" Gawaine that gentle knight 



Soe did the knights both more and lesse 
reioyced all that day 
for the good chance yt hapened was 
to Sr Gawaine & his lady gay. Ffinis 



In the Fac Simile Copies, after all the care which 
has been taken, it is very possible that a redundant 
e, &c. may have been added or omitted. 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 



This Ballad, together with that already printed, 
intitled " The Friar of Orders Gray," forming what 
may be considered the whole of Bishop Percy's origi- 
nal compositions, is here appended as a necessary ad- 
dition to the foregoing collection. 



Dark was the night, and wild the storm, 

And loud the torrent's roar ; 
And loud the sea was heard to dash 

Against the distant shore. 

Musing on man's weak hapless state, 

The lonely Hermit lay ; 
When, lo ! he heard a female voice 

Lament in sore dismay. 

With hospitable haste he rose, 

And wak'd his sleeping fire ; 
And snatching up a lighted brar I, 

Forth hied the rev'rend sire. 

All sad beneath a neighbouring tree 

A beauteous maid he found, 
Who beat her breast, and with her tears 

Bedew 'd the mossy ground. 

" O weep not, lady, weep not so ; 

Nor let vain fears alarm ; 
My little cell shall shelter thee, 

And keep thee safe from harm." 

" It is not for myself I weep, 

Nor for myself I fear ; 
But for my dear and only friend, 

Who lately left me here : 

" And while some sheltering bower he sought 

Within this lonely wood, 
Ah ! sore I fear his wandering feet 

Have slipt in yonder flood." 

*' ! trust in Heaven," the Hermit said, 

" And to my cell repair ! 
Doubt not but I shall find thy friend, 

And ease thee of thy care." 



Then climbing up his rocky stairs, 

He scales the cliff so high ; 
And calls aloud, and waves his light 

To guide the stranger's eye. 

Among the thickets long he winds, 

With careful steps and slow : 
At length a voice return'd his call, 

Quick answering from below : 

" O tell me, father, tell me true, 

If you have chanc'd to see 
A gentle maid, I lately left 

Beneath some neighbouring tree : 

" But either I have lost the place, 

Or she hath gone astray : 
And much I fear this fatal stream 

Hath snatch'd her hence away." 

" Praise Heaven, my son," the Hermit said ; 

The lady's safe and well :" 
And soon he join'd the wandering youth, 

And brought him to his cell. 

Then well was seen, these gentle friends, 

They lov'd each other dear : 
The youth he press'd her to his heart ; 

The maid let fall a tear. 

Ah ! seldom had their host, I ween, 

Beheld so sweet a pair : 
The youth was tall, with manly bloom ; 

She, slender, soft, and fair. 

The youth was clad in forest green, 

With bugle-horn so bright : 
She in a silken robe and scarf, 

Snatch'd up in hasty flight. 

" Sit down, my children," says the sage ; 

" Sweet rest your limbs require " 
Then heaps fresh fuel on the hearth, 

And mends his little fire. 



S84 



tin: hermit of wark worth 



" Partake," lie said, " my simple store. 
Dried fruits, and milk, and curds;" 

And spreading all upon the board, 
Invites with kindly words. 

" Thanks, father, for thy bounteous fare ;" 

The youthful couple say : 
Then freely ate, and made good cheer, 

And talk'd their cares awav. 

" Now say, my children, (for perchance 

My counsel may avail), 
What strange adventure brought you here 

Within this lonely dale V 

"First tell me, father," said the youth, 
" (Nor blame mine eager tongue), 

What town is near ? What lands are these ? 
And to what lord belong V 

" Alas ! my son," the Hermit said, 

" Why do I live to say, 
The rightful lord of these domains 



Is banish'd far 



away 



" Ten winters now have shed their snows 

On this my lowly hall, 
Since valiant Hotspur (so the North 

Our youthful lord did call) 

" Against Fourth Henry Bolingbroke 

Led up his northern powers, 
And, stoutly fighting, lost his life 

Near proud Salopia's towers. 

" One son he left, a lovely boy, 

His country's hope and heir ; 
And, oh ! to save him from his foes 

It was his grandsire's care. 

" In Scotland safe he plac'd the child 

Beyond the reach of strife, 
Nor long before the brave old Earl 

At Braham lost his life. 

" And now the Percy name, so long 

Our northern pride and boast, 
Lies hid, alas ! beneath a cloud ; 

Their honours reft and lost. 

• No chieftain of that noble house 

Now leads our youth to arms ; 
The bordering Scots despoil our fields, 

And ravage all our farms. 

" Their halls and castles, once so fair, 

Now moulder in decay ; 
Proud Btrangera now usurp their lands, 

And hear tlieir wealth away. 

" Nor far from henre, where yon full stream 

Runs winding down the lea, 
Fair Warkworth lifts her lofty towers, 
And overlooks the II EL 

" 1 hose towers, alas ! now lie forlorn, 
With Doisome weeds o'erapread, 

\\ here feasted lords and COnitly dames, 
And w hen- the poor were I'nl. 



" Meantime far off, 'mid Scottish hills, 

The Percy lives unknown : 
On strangers' bounty he depends, 

And may not claim his own. 

" might I with these aged eyes 

But live to see him here, 
Then should my soul depart in bliss !" — 

He said, and dropt a tear. 

" And is the Percy still so lov'd 

Of all his friends and thee? 
Then, bless me, father," said the youth, 

" For I, thy guest, am he." 

Silent he gaz'd, then turn'd aside 

To wipe the tears he shed ; 
And lifting up his hands and eyes, 

Pour'd blessings on his head : 

" Welcome, our dear and much-lov'd lord, 
Thy country's hope and care : 

But who may this young lady be, 
That is so wondrous fair V 

" Now, father ! listen to my tale, 
And thou shalt know the truth : 

And let thy sage advice direct 
My inexperienc'd youth. 

" In Scotland I've been nobly bred 

Beneath the Regent's* hand, 
In feats of arms, and every lore 

To fit me for command. 

" W r ith fond impatience long I burn'd 

My native land to see : 
At length I won my guardian friend 

To yield that boon to me. 

" Then up and down in hunter's garb 

I wander'd as in chase, 
Till in the noble Neville'sf house 

I gain'd a hunter's place. 

" Some time with him I liv'd unknown, 

Till I'd the hap so rare 
To please this young and gentle dame, 

That Baron's daughter fair." 

" Now, Percy," said the blushing maid, 

" The truth I must reveal ; 
Souls great and generous, like to thine, 

Their noble deeds conceal. 

" It happen'd on a summer's day, 

Led by the fragant breeze, 
I wander'd forth to take the air 

Among the green-wood trees. 

" Sudden a band of rugged Scots, 

That near in ambush lav, 
Moss-troopers from the border-side, 

There seiz'd me for their prey. 



• Robert Stuart, Duke of Albany. Seethe continuation 
di" Fordnn's Scotl-Chronicon, cap. is, cap. 23, &c. 

1 Ralph Neville, Inst Kail of Westmoreland, who chiefly 
resided n hit two castles of Brancepeth, and Raby, both in 
the lu-hoprick of Durham. 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 



285 



" My shrieks had all heen spent in vain ; 

But Heaven, that saw my grief, 
Brought this brave youth within my call, 

Who flew to my relief. 

" With nothing but his hunting spear, 

And dagger in his hand, 
He sprung like lightning on my foes, 

And caus'd them soon to stand. 

" He fought till more assistance came : 

The Scots were overthrown ; 
Thus freed me, captive, from their bands, 

To make me more his own." 

" O happy day !" the youth replied : 
" Blest were the wounds I bear ! 

From that fond hour she deign'd to smile, 
And listen to my prayer. 

" And when she knew my name and birth, 

She vow'd to be my bride ; 
But oh ! we fear'd (alas, the while !) 

Her princely mother's pride : 

" Sister of haughty Bolingbroke*, 

Our house's ancient foe, 
To me, I thought, a banish'd wight, 

Could ne'er such favour shew. 

" Despairing then to gain consent, 

At length to fly with me 
I won this lovely timorous maid j 

To Scotland bound are we. 

" This evening, as the night drew on, 

Fearing we were pursued, 
We turn'd adown the right-hand path, 

And gain'd this lonely wood : 

" Then lighting from our weary steeds 

To shun the pelting shower, 
We met thy kind conducting hand, 

And reach'd this friendly bower." 

" Now rest ye both," the Hermit said ; 

" Awhile your cares forego : 
Nor, Lady, scorn my humble bed : 

— We'll pass the night belowf." 



Lovely smil'd the blushing morn, 
And every storm was fled : 

But lovelier far, with sweeter smile, 
Fair Eleanor left her bed. 

She found her Henry all alone, 
And cheer'd him with her sight ; 

The youth consulting with his friend 
Had watch'd the livelong night. 



* Joan, Countess of Westmoreland, mother of the young 
lady, was daughter of John of Gaunt, and half sister of King 
Henry IV. 5 

t Adjoining to the cliff which contains the Chapel of the 
Hermitage, are the remains of a small building, in which 
the Hermit dwelt. This consisted of one lower apartment, 
with a little bedchamber over it, and is now in ruins ; 
whereas the Chapel, cut in the solid rock, is still very in tire 
and perfect. 



What sweet surprise o'erpower'd her breast ! 

Her cheek what blushes dyed, 
When fondly he besought her there 

To yield to be his bride ! — 

" Within this lonely hermitage 

There is a chapel meet : 
Then grant, dear maid, my fond request, 

And make my bliss complete." 

u O Henry, when thou deign'st to sue, 

Can I thy suit withstand ? 
When thou, lov'd youth, hast won my heart, 

Can I refuse my hand 1 

" For thee I left a father's smiles, 

And mother's tender care ; 
And whether weal or woe betide, 

Thy lot I mean to share." 

" And wilt thou then, O generous maid ! 

Such matchless favour show, 
To share with me, a banish'd wight, 

My peril, pain, or woe? 

" Now Heaven, I trust, hath joys in store 

To crown thy constant breast : 
For know, fond hope assures my heart 

That we shall soon be blest. 

,l Not far from hence stands Coquet Isle * 

Surrounded by the sea ; 
There dwells a holy friar, well known 

To all thy friends and thee ; 

" 'Tis Father Bernard, so rever'd 

For every worthy deed ; 
To Raby Castle he shall go, 

And for us kindly plead. 

*' To fetch this good and holy man 

Our reverend host is gone ; 
And soon, I trust, his pious hands 

Will join us both in one." 

Thus they in sweet and tender talk 

The lingering hours beguile : 
At length they see the hoary sage 

Come from the neighbouring isle. 

With pious joy and wonder mix'd 

He greets the noble pair, 
And glad consents to join their hands 

With many a fervent prayer. 

Then strait to Raby's distant walls 

He kindly wends his way : 
Meantime in love and dalliance sweet 

They spend the livelong day. 

And now, attended by their host, 

The Hermitage they view'd, 
Deep-hewn within a craggy cliff, 

And overhung with wood. 



*In the little island of Coquet, near Warkworth, are still 
seen the ruins of a cell, which belonged to the Benedictine 
monks of Tinemouth-Abbey. 



J86 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 



And near a flight of shapely steps, 

All cut with nicest skill, 
And piercing through a stony arch, 

Ran winding up the hill : 

There deck'd with manv a flower and herb 

His little garden stands ; 
With fruitful trees in shady rows, 

All planted by his hands. 

Then, scoop'd within the solid rock, 

Three sacred vaults he shows : 
The chief, a chapel, neatly arch'd, 

On branching columns rose. 

Each proper ornament was there, 

That should a chapel grace ; 
The lattice for confession fram'd, 

And holy-water vase. 

O'er either door a sacred text 

Invites to godly fear ; 
And in a little scutcheon hung 

The cross, and crown, and spear. 

Up to the altar's ample breadth 

Two easy steps ascend ; 
And near, a glimmering solemn light 

Two well-wrought windows lend. 

Beside the altar rose a tomb 

All in the living stone ; 
On which a young and beauteous maid 

In goodly sculpture shone. 

A kneeling angel, fairly carv'd, 

Lean'd hovering o'er her breast ; 
A weeping warrior at her feet ; 

And near to these her crest *. 

The clift, the vault, but chief the tomb 

Attract the wondering pair : 
Eager they ask, " What hapless dame 

Lies sculptur'd here so fair ?" 

The Hermit sigh'd, the Hermit wept, 

For sorrow scarce could speak : 
At length he wip'd the trickling tears 

That all bedew'd his cheek. 

" Alas ! my children, human life 

Is but a vale of woe ; 
And very mournful is the tale 

Which ye so fain would know !" 

THE HERMIT'S TALE. 

Young lord, thy grandsire had a friend 

In days of youthful fame; 
Yon distant hills were his domains, 

Sir Bertram was his name. 

Where'er the noble Percy fought) 

His friend was at his side ; 
Ami many a skirmish with the Scots 
Their early valour tried. 

• Tbtl ll ■ Mull's Head, the cr.M ol tin- \\ iddrlUgtOfl fa- 
mily. All the figures, Ace. here described are still visible, 
o.ily somewhat effaced with length of time. 



Young Bertram lov'd a beauteous maid, 

As fair as fair might be ; 
The dew-drop on the lily's cheek 

Was not so fair as she. 

Fair Widdrington the maiden's name. 

Yon towers her dwelling-place* ; 
Her sire an old Northumbrian chief, 

Devoted to thy race. 

Many a lord, and many a knight, 

To this fair damsel came ; 
But Bertram was her only choice j 

For him she felt a flame. 

Lord Percy pleaded for his friend, 

Her father soon consents ; 
None but the beauteous maid herself 

His wishes now prevents. 

But she, with studied fond delays, 

Defers the blissful hour ; 
And loves to try his constancy, 

And prove her maiden power. 

" That heart," she said, " is lightly priz'd, 

Which is too lightly won ; 
And long shall rue that easy maid 

Who yields her love too soon." 

Lord Percy made a solemn feast 

In Alnwick's princely hall ; 
And there came lords, and there came knights, 

His chiefs and barons all. 

With wassail, mirth, and revelry, 

The castle rang around : 
Lord Percy call'd for song and harp, 

And pipes of martial sound. 

The minstrels of thy noble house, 

All clad in robes of blue, 
With silver crescents on their arms, 

Attend in order due. 

The great achievements of thy race 
They sung : their high command : 

How valiant Mainfred o'er the seas 
First led his northern band t- 

Brave Galfred next to Normandy 

With venturous Rollo came; 
And, from his Norman castles won, 

Assum'd the Percy name J. 

They sung how in the Conqueror's fleet 
Lord William shipp'd his powers, 

And gain'd a fair young Saxon bride 
With all her lands and towers §. 



• Widdrington Castle is about five miles south ofWark- 
worth. 
i See Dogdale's Baronetage, p. w.), &c. 

I In Lower Normandy are three paces of the name of 
Peres i whence 1 1 » »- farailj took the surname of De Percy. 

<j William de Percy (fifth in descent from Galfred or 
Cm. iv de Percy,sonof Mainfred) assisted in the conquest 
of England, and had given him ihe large possessions, in 
Yorkshire, of Emma de Porte (so the Norman writers 
name her), whose father, a great Saxon lord, had been slain 
fighting along with Harold. This young lady, William 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 



287 



Then journeying to the Holy Land, 

There bravely fought and died ; 
But first the silver crescent won, 

Some paynim Soldan's pride. 

They sung- how Agnes, beauteous heir, 

The Queen's own brother wed, 
Lord Josceline, sprung from Charlemagne, 

In princely Brabant bred * ; 

How he the Percy name reviv'd, 

And how his noble line, 
Still foremost in their country's cause, 

With godlike ardour shine. 

With loud acclaims the list'ning crowd 

Applaud the master's song, 
And deeds of arms and war became 

The theme of every tongue. 

Now high heroic acts they tell, 

Their perils past recall : 
When, lo ! a damsel young and fair 

Stepp'd forward through the hall. 

She Bertram courteously address'd ; 

And, kneeling on her knee, — 
" Sir knight, the lady of thy love 

Hath sent this gift to thee." 

Then forth she drew a glittering helm, 

Well plaited many a fold ; 
The casque was wrought of temper'd steel, 

The crest of burnish 'd gold. 

" Sir knight, thy lady sends thee this, 

And yields to be thy bride, 
When thou hast prov'd this maiden gift 

Where sharpest blows are tried." 

Young Bertram took the shining helm, 

And thrice he kiss'd the same : 
" Trust me, I'll prove this precious casque 

With deeds of noblest fame." 

Lord Percy, and his Barons bold, 

Then fix upon a day 
To scour the marches, late opprest, 

And Scottish wrongs repay. 

The knights assembled on the hills 

A thousand horse or more : 
Brave Widdrington, though sunk in years, 

The Percy standard bore. 

Tweed's limpid current soon they pass, 

And range the borders round : 
Down the green slopes of Tiviotdale 

Their bugle-horns resound. 

from a principle of honour and generosity, married : for 
having had all her lands bestowed upon him by the Con- 
queror, " he (to use the words of the old Whitby Chronicle) 
wedded hyr that was very heire to them, in discharging 
of his conscience." See Harl. M-SS. 692 (26). He died at 
Mountjoy, near Jerusalem, in the first crusade. 

* Agnes de Percy, sole heiress of her house, married Jos- 
celine de Louvaine, youngest son of Godfrey Barbatus, 
Duke of Brabant, and brother of Queen Adeliza, second wife 
of King Henry I. He took the name of Percy, arrd was 
ancestor of the earls of Northumberland. His son, lord 
Richard de Percy, was one of the twenty-six barons chosen 
to seo the Magna Charta duly observed. 



As when a lion in bis den 

Hath heard the hunters' cries, 

And rushes forth to meet his foes ; 
So did the Douglas rise. 

Attendant on their chief's command 

A thousand warriors wait : 
And now the fatal hour drew on 

Of cruel keen debate. 

A chosen troop of Sottish youths 

Advance before the rest ; 
Lord Percy mark'd their gallant mien, 

And thus his friend address'd : 

" Now, Bertram, prove thy lady's helm, 

Attack yon forward band ; 
Dead or alive I'll rescue thee, 

Or perish by their hand." 

Young Bertram bow'd, with glad assent 

And spurr'd his eager steed, 
And calling on his lady's name, 

Rush'd forth with whirlwind speed. 

As when a grove of sapling oaks 

The livid lightning rends ; 
So fiercely 'mid the opposing ranks 

Sir Bertram's sword descends. 

This way and that he drives the steel„ 

And keenly pierces through ; 
And many a tall and comely knigh* 

With furious force he slew. 

Now closing fast on every side, 
They hem Sir Bertram round : 

But dauntless he repels their rage, 
And deals forth many a wound. 

The vigour of his single arm 

Had well nigh won the field ; 
When ponderous fell a Scottish axe, 

And clave his lifted shield. 

Another blow his temples took, 

And reft his helm in twain ; 
That beauteous helm, his lady's gift ! 

His blood bedew'd the plain. 

Lord Percy saw his champion fall 

Amid th' unequal fight ; 
" And now, my noble friends," he said, 

" Let's save this gallant knight." 

Then rushing in, with stretch 'd-out shield, 

He o'er the warrior hung, 
As some fierce eagle spreads her wing 

To guard her callow young. 

Three times they strove to seize their prey, 
Three times they quick retire : 

What force could stand his furious strokes, 
Or meet his martial fire ? 

Now gathering round on every part 

The battle rag'd amain ; 
And many a lady wept her lord, 

That hour untimely slain. 



288 THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 


Fercv and Douglas, great in arms, 


" Now out, alas!" she loudly shriek'd ; 


There all their courage ahow'd ; 


" Alas ! how may this be? 


And all tlu' field was Btrew'd with dead, 


For six long days are gone and past 


And all witli crimson tlow'd. 


Since she set out to thee." 


At length the glory of the- day 


Sad terror seiz'd Sir Bertram's heart, 


The Scots reluctant yield, 


And ready was he to fall ; 


And, after wondrous valour shown, 


When now the drawbridge was let down, 


They slowly quit the field. 


And gates were opened all. 


All pale, extended on their shields, 


" Six days, young knight, are past and gone, 


And weltering in his gore, 


Since she set out to thee ; 


Lord Percy's knights their bleeding friend 


And sure, if no sad harm had happ'd, 


To Walk's fair castle bore *. 


Long since thou wouldst her see. 


" Well hast thou earn'd my daughter's love," 


" For when she heard thy grievous chance, 


Her father kindly said ; 


She tore her hair, and cried, 


" And she herself shall dress thy wounds, 


1 Alas ! I've slain the comeliest knight, 


And tend thee in thy bed." 


All through my folly and pride ! 


A message went ; no daughter came, 


" ' And now to atone for my sad fault 


Fair Isabel ne'er appears ; 


And his dear health regain, 


" Beshrew me," said the aged chief, 


I'll go myself, and nurse my love, 


" Young maidens have their fears. 


And soothe his bed of pain.' 


" Cheer up, my son, thou shall her see, 


" Then mounted she her milk-white steed 


So soon as thou canst ride ; 


One morn at break of day ; 


And she shall nurse thee in her bower, 


And two tall yeomen went with her, 


And she shall be thy bride." 


To guard her on the way." 


Sir Bertram at her name reviv'd, 


Sad terror smote Sir Bertram's heart, 


He bless'd the soothing sound ; 


And grief o'erwhelm'd his mind : 


Fond hope supplied the nurse's care, 


" Trust me" said he, " I ne'er will rest 


And heal'd his ghastly wound. 


Till I thy lady find." 


FIT III. 


That night he spent in sorrow and care ; 




And with sad-boding heart 


One early morn, while dewy drops 


Or ever the dawning of the day 
His brother and he depart. 


Hung trembling on the tree, 


Sir Bertram from his sick-bed rose ; 


His bride he would go see. 


" Now, brother, we'll our ways divide, 


A brother he had in prime of youth, 

Of courage firm and keen ; 
And he would 'tend him on the way, 


O'er Scottish hills to range ; 
Do thou go north, and I'll go west ; 
And all our dress we'll change. 


Because his wounds were green. 


" Some Scottish carle hath seiz'd my love, 


All clay o'er moss and moor they rode, 

By many a lonely tower ; 
And 'twas the dew-fall of the night 


And borne her to his den ; 


And ne'er will I tread English ground 


Till she's restor'd again." 


Ere they drew near her bower. 




The brothers straight their paths divide, 


Most drear and dark the castle seem'd, 


O'er Scottish hills to range ; 


That wont to shine so bright ; 


And hide themselves in quaint disguise, 


And long and loud Sir Bertram call'd 


And oft their dress they change. 


Ere he beheld a light. 






Sir Bertram, clad in gown of grey, 


At length her aged nurse arose, 


Most like a palmer poor, 


With voice so shrill and clear, — 


To halls and castles wanders round, 


" What wight is this, that calls so loud, 


And begs from door to door. 


And knocks so boldly here?" 






Sometimes a minstrel's garb he wears, 


" 'Tis Bertram calls, thy lady's love, 


With pipe so sweet and shrill ; 


Come from his bed of care : 


And wends to every tower and town, 
O'er every dale and hill. 


All day I've ridden o'er moor and moss 


To Bee thy lady fair." 




One day as he sat under a thorn, 

All sunk in deej) despair, 
An aged pilgrim pass'd him by, 


• Wark Castle, a fortress belonging t<> the English, and 


of great ""it- in ancient timet, stood on the southern banks 


ol the EMvei Tweed, ■ Little i<> ti><- eaal "i Tlviotdale, and 


not iar from Kelso. It is cow entirely destroyed. 


Who mark'd bis (ace of care. 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 


289 

! 


" All minstrels yet that e'er I saw- 
Are full of game and glee ; 

But thou art sad and woe-begone ! 
I marvel whence it be !" 


The first night, as he silent watch 'd 
All at the midnight hour, 

He plainly heard his lady's voice 
Lamenting in the tower. 




" Father, I serve an aged lord, 
Whose grief afflicts my mind ; 

His only child is stolen away, 
And fain I would her find." 


The second night, the moon shone clear, 
And gilt the spangled dew ; 

He saw his lady through the grate, 
But 'twas a transient view. 




" Cheer up, my son ; perchance," he said, 

" Some tidings I may bear : 
For oft when human hopes have fail'd, 

Then heavenly comfort's near. 


The third night, wearied out, he slept 
'Till near the morning tide ; 

When, starting up, he seiz'd his sword, 
And to the castle hied. 




" Behind yon hills so steep and high, 

Down in a lowly glen, 
There stands a castle fair and strong, 

Far from the abode of men. 


When, lo ! he saw a ladder of ropes 
Depending from the wall : 

And o'er the moat was newly laid 
A poplar strong and tall. 




"As late I chanc'd to crave an alms, 
About this evening hour, 

Methought I heard a lady's voice 
Lamenting in the tower. 


And soon he saw his love descend 
Wrapt in a tartan plaid, 

Assisted by a sturdy youth 
In Highland garb y-clad. 




" And when I ask'd what harm had happ'd, 

What lady sick there lay ? 
They rudely drove me from the gate, 

And bade me wend away." 


Amaz'd, confounded at the sight, 

He lay unseen and still ; 
And soon he saw them cross the stream, 

And mount the neighbouring hill. 




These tidings caught Sir Bertram's ear, 
He thank'd him for his tale ; 

And soon he- hasted o'er the hills, 
And soon he reach 'd the vale. 


Unheard, unknown of all within, 
The youthful couple fly ; 

But what can 'scape the lover's ken, 
Or shun his piercing eye ? 




Then drawing near those lonely towers, 
Which stood in dale so low, 

And sitting down beside the gate, 
His pipes he 'gan to blow. 


With silent step he follows close 
Behind the flying pair, 

And saw her hang upon his arm 
With fond familiar air. 




" Sir Porter, is thy lord at home, 
To hear a minstrel's song ; 

Or may I crave a lodging here, 
Without offence or wrong 1 " 


" Thanks, gentle youth," she often said; 

" My thanks thou well hast won : 
For me what wiles hast thou contriv'd ! 

For me what dangers run ! 




" My lord," he said, " is not at home, 
To hear a minstrel's song ; 

And, should I lend thee lodging here, 
Mv life w r ould not be long." 


" And ever shall my grateful heart 
Thy services repay : " — 

Sir Bertram would no further hear, 
But cried, " Vile traitor, stay ! 




He play'd again so soft a strain, 
Such power sweet sounds impart, 

J le won the churlish porter's ear, 
And mov'd his stubborn heart. 


" Vile traitor ! yield that lady up !" 
And quick his sword he drew ; 

The stranger turn'd in sudden rage, 
And at Sir Bertram flew. 




" Minstrel," he said, " thou play'st so sweet, 
Fair entrance thou should'st win ; 

But, alas ! I'm sworn upon the rood 
To let no stranger in. 


With mortal hate their vigorous arms 
Gave many a vengeful blow ; 

But Bertram's stronger hand prevail'd. 
And laid the stranger low. 




Yet, minstrel, in. yon rising cliff 
Thou'lt find a sheltering cave ; 
And here thou shalt my supper share, 
And there thy lodging have." 


" Die, traitor, die ! " — A deadly thrust 
Attends each furious word. 

Ah ! then fair Isabel knew his voice, 
And rush'd beneath his sword. 




All day he sits beside the gate, 
And pipes both loud and clear : 

All night he watches round the walls, 
In hopes his love to hear. 


" stop," she cried, " stop thy arm ! 

Thou dost thy brother slay ! " — 
And here the Hermit paus'd, and wept - 

His tongue no more could say. 






THE HERMIT OF 


W ARK WORTH. 


- 


At length lie cried, " Sfe Lovely pair, 


Thus, pouring comfort on my soul, 


How shall I tell the rest? 


F^ven with her latest breath, 




J'.re 1 could stop mv piercing Bword, 


She gave one parting, fond embrace, 




It fell, and stahb'd her breast." 


And clos'd her eyes in death. 




'■ Wert thou thyself that hapless youth? 


In wild amaze, in speechless woe, 




Ah! cruel (ate I" they said. 


Devoid of sense, I lay : 




The Hermit wept, and so did they : 


Then sudden, all in frantic mood, 




They sigh'd ; he hung his head. 


I meant myself to slay. 




" blind and jealous rage," he cried, 


And, rising up in furious haste, 




" What evils from thee flow V 


I seiz'd the bloody brand * : 




The Hermit paus'd ; they silent mourn'd : 


A sturdy arm here interpos'd, 




He wept, and they were woe. 


And wrench'd it from my hand. 




Ah ! when I heard my brother's name, 


A crowd, that from the castle came, 




And saw my lady bleed, 


Had miss'd their lovely ward ; 




I rav'd, I wept, I curst my arm 


And seizing me, to prison bare, 




That wrought the fatal deed. 


And deep in dungeon barr'd. 




In vain I clasp'd her to my breast, 


It chane'd that on that very morn 




And clos'd the ghastly wound ; 


Their chief was prisoner ta'en ; 




In vain I press 'd his bleeding corpse, 


Lord Percy had us soon exchang'd, 




And rais'd it from the ground. 


And strove to soothe my pain. 




My brother, alas ! spake never more, 


And soon those honour 'd dear remains 




His precious life was flown : 


To England were convey'd ; 




She kindly strove to soothe my pain, 


And there within their silent tombs, 




Regardless of her own. 


With holy rites, were laid. 




" Bertram," she said, " be comforted, 


For me, I loath 'd my wretched life, 




And live to think on me : 


And long to end it thought ; 




May we in heaven that union prove, 


Till time, and books, and holy men, 


! 


Which here was not to be ! 


Had better counsels taught. 




" Bertram," she said, " I still was true ; 


They rais'd my heart to that pure source 


i 


Thou only hadst my heart : 


Whence heavenly comfort flows : 




May we hereafter meet in bliss ! 


They taught me to despise the world, 




We now, alas ! must part. 


And calmly bear its woes. 




" For thee I left my father's hall, 

And flew to thy relief, 
When, lo ! near Cheviot's fatal hills 


No more the slave of human pride, 




Vain hope, and sordid care, 




I meekly vow'd to spend my life 


1 


I met a Scottish chief, 


In penitence and prayer. 




" Lord Malcolm's son, whose proffer'd love 

I had refus'd with scorn ; 
He slew my guards, and seiz'd on me 

Upon that fatal morn ; 


The bold Sir Bertram, now no more 
Impetuous, haughty, wild ; 

But poor and humble Benedict, 
Now lowly, patient, mild. 

My lands I gave to feed the poor, 
And sacred altars raise ; 




" And in these dreary hated walls 




He kept me close confin'd ; 


And here, a lonely anchorite, 
I came to end my days. 




And fondly sued, and warmly press'd, 




To win me to his mind. 


This sweet sequester'd vale I chose, 




" Bach rising morn increas'd my pain, 


These rocks, and hanging grove ; 




Each night increas'd my fear 1 


For oft beside that murmuring stream 




When, wandering in this northern garb, 


My love was wont to rove. 




Thy brother found me here. 


My noble friend approv'd my choice ; 




" He quickly Porm'd the brave design 

To set me, captive, free ; 
And on the moor his horses wait, 


This blest retreat he gave : 
And here I carv'd her beauteous form, 
And scoop'd this holy cave. 




Tied to a neighbouring tree. 


Full fifty winters, all forlorn, 
I\Iy life I've linger'd here ; 




" Then haste, my love, escape away, 


And daily o'er this sculptur'd saint 
I drop the pensive tear. 




And for thyself provide ; 




And sometimes fondly think on her 
Who should have been thv bride." 






* i.e. sword. 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 



291 



And thou, dear brother of my heart ! 

So faithful and so true, 
The sad remembrance of thy fate 

Still makes my bosom rue ! 

Yet not unpitied pass'd my life, 

Forsaken or forgot, 
The Percy and his noble sons 

Would graoe my lowly cot ; 

Oft the great Earl, from toils of state 
And cumbrous pomp of power, 

Would gladly seek my little cell, 
To spend the tranquil hour. 

B Jt length of life is length of woe ! 

1 liv'd to mourn his fall : 
I hVd to mourn his godlike sons 

And friends and followers all. 

But thou the honours of thy race, 
Lov'd youth, shalt now restore ; 

And raise again tbe Percy name 
More glorious than before. 



He ceas'd ; and on the lovely pair 

His choicest blessings laid : 
While they, with thanks and piiynig tears, 

His mournful tale repaid. 

And now what present course to take 

They ask the good old sire ; 
And, guided by his sage advice, 

To Scotland they retire. 

Meantime their suit such favour found 

At Raby's stately hall, 
Earl Neville and his princely spous9 

Now gladly pardon all. 

She, suppliant, at her nephew's * throne 

The royal grace implor'd : 
To all the honours of his race 

The Percy was restor'd. 

The youthful Earl still more and more 
Admir'd his beauteous dame : 

Nine noble sons to him she bore, 
All worthy of their name. 

•King Henry V. Aunj 1-ill. 



GLOSSARY. 



The Scottish words are denoted by s., French by f., Latin by I., Anglo-Saxon by a.s., Icelandic by \si., &c. 
For the etymology of the words in this volume, the reader is referred to Junii Etymologicum Anglicauum, Edidit Ed. Lye. 

Oxon, 1743, folio. 



A. 

A' Au, s. all 

Abacke, hack 

Abone, aboon, s. above 

Aboven ous, above us 

Abowght, about 

Abraide, p. 44, col. 1, abroad 

Abye, suffer, to pay for 

Acton, a kind of armour made of 
taffeta, or leather quilted, &c, 
worn under the habergeon, to 
save the body from bruises, f. 
Hocqueton 

A deid of nicht, s. in dead of night 

Advoutry, Advouterous, adultery, 
adulterous 

Aff, s. off 

Afore, before 

Aft, s. oft 

Agayne, against 

Agoe, gone 

Ante, ought 

Aik, s. oak 

Ain, Awin, s. own 

Aith, ». oath 

Alate, p. 27, col. 2, of late 

A I, albeit, although 

Alemaigne, f. Germany 

Al gife, although 

Alyes, probably corrupted for 
algates, always 

Ann, if 

An, p. 21, col. 1, and 

Ancient , a flag, banner 

Ancyent, standard 

Ane, s. one, an, a 

Angel, a gold coin worth 10s. 

Ant, and 

Apliht, Al aplyht, quite com- 
plete 

Aquoy, coy, shy 

Aras, p.. 2, col. 2, Arros, p. 3, col. 
1, arrows 

Arcir, p. 21, col. 1 T archer 

Argabushe, harquebusse, an old 
fashioned kind of musket 

Ase, as 

Assinde, assigned 

slssoyl'd, AssoyUd, absolved 

Astate, estate, also a great person 

Asionied, astonished, stunned 

Astound, Astonyed, stunned, asto- 
nished, confounded 



Ath, p. 2, col. 2, Athe, p. 3, col. 1, 

o'th', of the 
Attowre. s.out over, over and above 
A Twyde, p. 2, col. 2, of Tweed 
Auld, s. old 
Aureat, golden 
Austerne, p. 75, col. 1, stern, 

austere 
Avowe, p. 8, col. 1, vow 
Avowe, vow 

Avoyd, p. 54,-col. 2, void, vacate 
Awa', s. away 
Axed, asked 

Ayance, p. 73, col. 1, against 
Aye, ever, also, ah, alas 
Azein, Agein, against 
Azont, s. beyond 
Azont the ingle, s. beyond the 

fire. The fire was in the middle 

of the room. 

In the west of Scotland, at this pre- 
sent time, in many cottages they pile 
their peats and turfs upon stones in the 
middle of the room. There is a hole 
above the fire in the ridge of the house 
to let the smoke ont at. In some 
places are cottage-houses, from the front 
of which a very wide chimney projects 
like a bow window : the fire is in a 
grate like a malt-kiln grate, round 
which the people sit : sometimes they 
draw this grate into the middle of the 
room. — Mr. Lambe. 

B. 
Ba\ s. ball 

Bacheleere, p. 12, col. 1, &c. knight 
Baile, bale, p. 12, col. 1, p. 22, 

col. 2, evil, hurt, mischief, 

misery 
Bairne, s. child 
Bairn, s. child 
Bairded, s. bearded 
Baiih, s. Bathe, both 
Bale, evil, mischief, misery 
Balow, s. a nursery term, hush, 

lullaby, &c. 
Balysbete, p. 5, col. 2, Better our 

bales, i. e. remedy our evils 
Bane, bone 

Ban, curse, Banning, cursing 
Bander olles, streamers, little flags 
Band, p. 13, col. 2, bond, covenant 
Bar, bare 
Bar-hed, bare-head, or perhaps 

bared 



Barne, p. 2, col. 2, Berne, p. 6, 

col. 2, man. person 
Base court, the lower court of f. 

castle 
Basnete, Basnite, Basnyte, Basonet, 

Bassonette, helmet 
Battes, heavy sticks, clubs 
Baud, s. bold 

Bauzen, s. Skinne, p. 80, col. 1, 
perhaps sheep's leather dressed 
and coloured red, f. Barane, 
sheep's leather. In Scotland, 
sheepskin mittens, with the wool 
on the inside, are called bauson 
mittens. Bauson also signifies 
a badger, in old English, it may 
therefore signify perhaps bad- 
ger's skin 
Bayard, a noted blind horse in the 
old romances. The horse on 
which the four sons of Aymon 
rode is called Bayard Montal- 
bon, by Skelton, in his "Phillip 
Sparrow." 
Bearing arrow, an arrow that 
carries well. Or perhaps bear- 
ing or birring, i. e. whirling 
or whirring arrow, from isl. 
Bir. ventus, or a. s. 
Bene, fremitus 
Beam, Bairn, s. child, also human 

creature 
Be, s. by, Be that, by that time 
Bed, bade 

Bede, offer, engage 
Bedeene, immediately 
Bedight, bedecked 
Bedone, wrought, made up 
Bedyls, beadles 
Befall, befallen 
Befoir, s. before 
Beforn, before 

Begylde, p. 25, col 1, beguiled, de- 
ceived 
Beheard, heard 

Behests, commands, injunctions 
Behove, p. 47, col 1 , behoof 
Belive, immediately, presently 
BelyJ'e, p. Belive, immediately, by 

and by, shortly 
Bende-bow, a bent bow, qu. 
Bene, Bean, an expression of con- 
tempt • x 



. '1 



GLOSSARY. 



Brit, be, are 

Bene, been 
B«n,8. within the inner-room 

" But o' house," meant the outer 
p.nt of the house, outer room, vis. that 

part tif the house into which you first 
I nit r, rappOK fr,om the street. " Ben 
o' house," is the inner room, or more 
retired part of the hooae. The daughter 
did not lie out of doors. The cottagers 
often desire their landlords to build 
ii. .in i Bui and a Ben. (Vid. Gloss.)— 
Mr. Lambe. 

Ben, s. within doors 

Of the Scottish words Ben and 

Bit, Ben is from the Dutch Binnen. 

Lat. intra, intns, which is compounded 

of the preposition By or Be (the same 

as By in English), and of In. 

Benison, blessing 

Bent, s.long grass, also wild fields, 
where bents, &c. grow 

Bent, p. 2, col. 2, bents, p. 12 
col. 1,( where bents, long coarse 
grass, &c. grow) the field, fields 

Benyngne, p. 26, col. 1, Benigne, 
benign, kind 

Beoth, be, are 

Bernes, barns 

Beere, s. bier 

Bereth, (Introd.) beareth 
i Ber theprys, bare the prize 

Berys, beareth 

Beseeme, become 

Beshrewme, a lesser form of impre- 
cation 

Beshradde, cut into shreds 

Besmirche, to soil, discolour 

Besprent, besprinkled 

Beste, bee:>t, art 

Bested, abode 

Bestis, beasts 

Bestrawghtedy p. 49, col. 2, dis- 
tracted 

Beth, be, are 

Be that, p. 2, col. 2, by that time 

Beete, did beat 

Bet, better, bett, did beat 

Bewraies, discovers, betrays 

Bickarte, p. 2, col. 2, bicker'd, 
skirmished 

(It is also u.-ed sometimes in the 
sense of, "swiftly coursed," 
which seems to be the sense, 
p. 2, col. 2. — Mr. Lambe) 
Mr. Lambe also interprets " Bicker" 

inc," by rattling, e. g. 

And on that slee Ulysses head, 
Sad curses down docs bicker. 

Translat. of Ovid. 

Bill, %c, p. 74, col. 2, I have de- 
livered a promise in writing, 
confirmed by an oath. 

Bi mi leautc, by my loyalty, honesty 

Birk, s. birch-tree 

Blan, Blanne, did blin, i. e. linger, 

stop 
Blane, p. 4, col. 1, Blanne, did 

hi in, i. e. linger, stop 
Blare, to emblazon, display 
Blaw, 8. blow 
Blee, complexion 
Blee, colour, complexion 



Bleid, s. Blede, bleed 

Blent, blended 

Blent, ceased 

Blame, cease, give over 

Blinhtin, Blinkand, s. twinkling 

Blinking, squinting 

Blink, s. a glimpse of light, the 
sudden light of a candle seen 
in the night at a distance 

Blinks, s. twinkles, sparkles 

Blist, blessed 

Blive, Belice, s. immediately 

Bloomed, p. 80, col. 1, beset with 
bloom 

Blude, Bluid red, blood, s. blood 
red 

Bluid, Bluidy, s. blood, bloody 

Blyth, Blithe, s. sprightly, joyous 

Blyth, s joy, sprightliness 

Blyve, Belive, s. instantly 

Boare, bare, 

Bode, p. 25, col. 1, abode, stayed 

Boist, Boisteris, s. boast, boasters 

Bookesman, clerk, secretary 

Bollys, bowls 

Boltes, shafts, arrows 

Bomen, p. 2, col. 2, bowman 

Boon, favour, request, petition 

Boone, a favour, request, petition 

Bonny, Bonnie, s. comely 

Bore, born 

Borrowed, p. 9, col. 1, warranted, 
pledged, was exchanged for 

Borrowe, Borowe, pledge, surety 

Borowe, p. 42, col. 2, to redeem by 
a pledge 

Bote, boot, advantage 

Boot, Boote, advantage, help, as- 
sistance 

Boote, gain, advantage 

Bot, s. but, sometimes it seems 
used for both, or, besides, more 
over 

Bot and, s.p, 13, col. 1, (it should 
probably be both and), and also 

Bot, s. without, Bot dreid, with- 
out dread, certainly 

Bongill, s. bugle-hern, hunting 
horn 

Bougills, s. bugle horns 

Bounde, Bowynd, Bowned, pre- 
pared, got ready, the word is 
also used in the north in the 
sense of went or was going 

Bourne, to dine p. 11, col. 2, goiug 
to dine 

Bowne, is a common word in the 
North for going, e. g. Where 
are you bowne to, where are 
you going 

Bower Bowre, any bowed or arched 
room, a parlour, chamber, also 
a dwelling in general 

Bowre, bower, habitation, cham- 
ber, parlour, perhaps from isl. 
Botoan, to dwell 

Bowre-ivoman, s. chamber-maid 

Bowre-window, chamber-window 

Btrwendei, bounds 

Bonne, ready 



Bowne, ready, Bowned, prepared 

Bowne ye, prepare ye, get ready 

Bowus, bnws 

Brade, Braid, s. broad 

Brae, s. the brow or side of a 
bill, a declivity 

Braes of Yarrow, s. the hilly banks 
of the river Yarrow 

Braid, s. broad, large 

Brakes, tufts of fern 

Brand, sword 

Brandes, swords 

Brast, burst 

Braw, s. brave 

Braij'ly, s. bravely 

Brayd, s. arose, hastened 

Bra yd attowre the bent, s. hasted 
over the field 

Brayde, drew out, unsheathed 

Breech, p. 80, col. 1, breeches 

Breeden bale, breed mischief 

Brede, breadth. So Chaucer 

Bred banner, p. 7, col. 1, broad 
banner 

Brenand-druke, p. may perhaps be 
the same as a fire-drake, or fiery 
serpent, a meteor or fire-work 
so called. Here it seems to 
signify burning embers, or fire 
brands 

Breng, Bryng, bring 

Brenn. s. burn 

Breere, Brere, briar 

Brether, brethren 

Bridal (properly bride-all), the 
nuptial feast 

Brigue, Brigg, bridge 

Brimme, public, universally known 
a. s. Bryme, idem 

Britled, carved, vid. Bryttlynge. 
Gloss, vol. 1. 

Broad-arrow, s. a broad forked 
headed arrow 

Brooche, Brouche, 1st, a spit. 2dly, 
a bodkin. 3dly, any ornamental 
trinket. Stone buckles of silver 
or gold, with which gentlemen 
and ladies clasp their shirt- 
bosoms and handkerchiefs, are 
called in the north, brooches, 
from the f. broche, a spit 

Brouch, an ornamental trinket, a 
stone buckle for a woman's 
breast, &c. vid. Brooche. Glos. 
vol. 3. 

Brocht, s. brought 

Brodinge, pricking 

Brooke, p. 72, col. 2, bear, endure 

Brooke, p. 4, col. 2, enjoy 

Brouk her with whine, enjoy he. 
with pleasure, a.s. brok 

Browd, broad 

Brozt, brought 

Bryttlynge, p. 2, col. 2, Brytlyng, 
p. 2, col. 2, cutting up, quarter- 
ing, carving 

Biten, Bueth, been, be, are 

Bugle, bugle-horn, a hunting-horn, 
being the horn of a bugle, or 
wild bull . 



GLOSSARY. 



295 



Biiik, s. book 

Burgens buds, young shoots 

Burn, Bourn, brook 

Bushment, ambushment, ambush, 

a snare to bring them into 

trouble 
Busket, Buskt, dressed 
Busk ye, s. dress ye 
Busk, dress, deck 
Busk and boun,p. 31, col. 2, i. e. 

make yourselves ready and go ; 

Boun, to go. (north country.) 
Buskt them, p. 25, col. 2, prepared 

themselves, made themselves 

ready 
Bute, s. boot, advantage, good 
But if, unless 

But without, But let, without hin- 
drance 
But, s. without, out of doors 

But, or Butt, is from the Dutch 
Buyten. Lat. extra, proetur, prceter- 
quam, which is compounded of the 
same preposition, By or Be, and of 
uyt, the same as out in English. 

Butt, s. out, the outer room, 

Buttes, butts to shoot at 

Bydys, Bides, abides 

B years, Beeres, biers 

Bye, buy, pay for, also A-hye, 

suffer for 
Byll, Bill, an ancient kind of hal- 

bert, or battle-axe, p. 2, col. 2. 
Byn, Bine, Bin, been, be, are 
Byrche, birch-trees, birch-wood 
Byre s. cow-house 
Byste, beest, art 
By thre, p 40, col. 2, of three 



Cadgily, s. merrily, cheerfully 

Caitiff, a slave 

Calde, callyd, p. 3, col. 1, called 

Callver, a kind of musket 

Camscho, s. stern, grim 

Canna, s. cannot 

Can cane, p. 7, col. 2, p. 8 ; Gan, 
began to cry 

Can curtesye, know, understand 
good manners 

Can, Gan, began 

Cannes, wooden-cups, bowls 

Cantabanqui, ital. ballad-singers, 
singers on benches 

Cantles, pieces, corners 

Canty, s. cheerful, chatty 

Capul, a poor horse 

Capull hyde, p. 23, col. 2, horse- 
hide 

Care-bed, bed of care 

Carle, churl, clown. It is also 
used in the north for a strong 
hale old man 

Carline, s. the feminine of carle 

Carpe, to speak, recite, also to 
censure 

Carping, reciting 

Car pe of care, p. 4, col. 2, com- 
plain through care 

Cailish, churlish, discourteous 



Cast, p. 3, col. 1, mean, intend 

Cau, s. call 

Cauld, s. cold 

Cawte, vid. Kawte 

Caytiffe, caitiff, slave, despicable 

wretch 
Certes, certainly 

Cetywall, p. 79, col. 2, Setiwall, 
the herb Valerian : also, moun- 
tain spikenard. See Gerard's 
Herbal 
Chanteclere, the cock 
Chap, knock 
Chayme, chain 
Chays, chase 
Check, to stop 
Check, to rate at 
Che, (Somerset dialect), I 
Cheefe, the upper part of the 

scutcheon in heraldry 
Cheis, s. choose 
Chevaliers, f. knights 
Chill, (Som. dial.) I will 
Child, p. 28, knight, children, p. 

12, col. 2, knights. 
Chield, s. is a slight or familiar 
way of sjjeaking of a person, 
like our English word fellow. 
The Chield, i. e. the fellow 
Chould, (ditto) I would 
Christentie, Christendom 
Christentye, Chrystiante, Christen- 
dom 
Church-ale, a wake, a feast in com- 
memoration of the dedication of 
a church 
Churl, clown, a person of low 

birth, a villain 
Chyf, Chyfe, chief 
Chylder, children, children's 
Chylded, brought forth, was deli- 
vered 
Claiths, s. clothes 
Clattered, beat so as to rattle 
Claude, clawed, tore, scratched ; 

p. 47, col. 1, figuratively beat 
Clead, s. clothed 
Cleading, s. clothing 
Cled, s. clad, clothed 
Clenking, clinking, jingling 
Clepe, call 

Cleaped, Cleped, called, named 
Clerke, scholar 

C/erfrs,clergymen, literati, scholars 
Cliding, s. clothing 
dim, the contr?ction of Clement 
Clotigh, a north-country word for 

a broken cliff 
Clowch, clutch, grasp 
Coate, cot, cottage 
Cockers, p. 80, col. 1, a sort of 
buskins or short boots fastened 
with laces or buttons, and often 
worn by farmers or shepherds. 
In Scotland they are called Cu- 
tikins, from Cute, the ankle. 
" Cokers, fishermen's boots. " — 
(Littleton's Diction.) 
Cohoried, incited, exhorted 
Cokeney, seems to be a dimi- 



nutive for cook, from the Latin 
coquinator, orcoquinarius. The 
meaning seems to be that 
" every five and five had a cook 
or scullion to attend them." — 
Chaucer's Cant. Tales, 8vo. vol. 
iv. p. 253. 
Collayne, p. 8, col. 1, Cologne 

steel 
Cold rost, (a phrase), nothing Co 

the purpose 
Cold, could, knew 
Coleyne, Cologne steel 
Com, came 

Comen, Commyn, come 
Confetered, confederated, entered 

into a confederacy 
Con, can, gan, began. Item. Con- 
springe, (a phrase), sprung, 
Con fare, went, passed 
Con thanks, give thanks 
Cop head, the top of anything, sax. 
Cordiwin, p. 80, col. 1, cordwayne, 
properly Spanish or Cordovan 
leather ; here it signifies a more 
vulgar sort 
Corsiare, p. 4, col. 1, courser steed 
Cost, coast side 
Coote, coat 

Cote, cot, cottage. Item, coat 
Cotydyallye, daily, every day 
Coulde, cold. Item, could 
Could be, p. 75, col. 2, was. Coulu 
dye, p. 8. col. 2, died (a phrase) 
Could bear, a phrase for bare 
Could creip, s. crept. Could say t 

said 
Could weip, s. wept 
Couldhis good,kaew what was good 
for him. Or perhaps could live 
upon his own 
Countie, p. 78, col. 2, count, earl 
Coupe, a pen for poultry 
Couthen, knew 
Couth, could 
Covetise, covetousness 
Coyntrie, p. 80, col. I, Coventry 
Cramasie, s. crimson 
Crancky, merry, sprightly, ex- 
ulting 
Cranion, skull 
Credence, belief 
Crevis, crevice, chink 
Cricke, s. properly an ant, but 
means probably any small insect 
Crinkle, run in and out, run into 

flexures, wrinkle 
Ciistes cors, p. 3, col. 1, Christ's 

curse 
Cr-ft, an inclosure near a house 
Croiz, cross 

Crook my knee, make lame my 
knee. They say in the north, 
"the horse is crookit," i. e 
lame. " The horse crooks/' i. e 
goes lame 
Crook, twist, wrinkle, distort 
Crowch, crutch 
Crouneth, crown ye 
Crowt, to pucker up 



296 



GLOSSARY. 



Crumpling, crooked ; or perhaps 
with crooked knotty horns 

Cryance, belief, t'. Crania [whence 
recreant]. But in p. 12, col. 1, 
&c, it seems to signify fear, f. 
Craiute 

Cult', 9. COOl 

Cum, s. come, p. 3, col. 2, came 
Cummer, s. gossip, friend, f. 

Commire, Compere 
Cure, care, heed, regard 



D. 

Dale, s. deal, Bot give I dale, unless 

Ideal 
Dampned, damned 
Dampned, p. 42, col. 1, con- 
demned 
Dan, an ancient title of respect, 

from Lat. Dominus 
Dank, moist, damp 
Danshe, Denmark, query 
Darr\l, s. hit 

Varh, perhaps for Thar, there 
Dart the trie, s. hit the tree 
Daukin, diminutive of David 
Daunger hault, coyness holdeih 
Dawes fintrod.), days 
Dealan, deland, s. dealing 
Deare day, charming pleasant 

day 
Deas, Deis, the high table in a hall, 

from f. Dais, a canopy 
Dee, s. die 
De y dey, dy, p. 3, col. 1, 3, col. 

2, 4, col. 2, die 
XWe is do, deed is done 
Deed (introd.) dead 
Deid, s. Dede, deed. Item, dead 
Deid-bell, s. passing-bell 
DeM, deal, part, p. 27, col. 2, 

Eueri/ dell, every part 
De//, narrow valley 
Dele, deal 
Deft, dealt 

Deelye dight, richly fitted out 
Demains, demesnes, estate in lands 
Deme, deemed, judge, doomed 
Deemed, doomed, judged, &c. ; 

thus, in the Isle of Man, judges 

are called deemsters 
Denay, deny (rhythmi gratia) 
Dent, a dint, blow 
Deimt, s. deem'd, esteem'd 
Deip, s. Depe, deep 
Deir, s. Deere, Dere, dear 
Deir, s. dear. Item, hurt, trouble, 

disturb 
Deol, dole, grief 
Deepe-fette, deep-fetched 
Depwredf purified, run clear 
Deere, hurt, mischief 
Deerly, preciously, richly 
Dere, Deye, die 
Dere, Deere, dear, also hurt 
Derked, darkened 
Dern, s. secret, I dern in secret 
Descreeiw, describe 
Descryc, Descrive, describe 



Dm/:, devise, the act of bequeath- 
ing by will 
Dight, decked, put on 
Dight-dicht, s. decked, dressed, 

prepared, fitted out, done 
Dill, p. 11, col. 2, dole, grief, pain. 

Dill I drye, p. 12, col. 1, pain 

1 sutler. Dill was dight, p. 1 1. 

col. 2, grief was upon him. 
Dill, still, calm, mitigate 
Din. Dinne, noise, bustle 
Ding, knock, beat 
Dint, stroke, blow 
Discust, discussed 
Disna, s. does not 
Dis, p. 21, col. 1, this 
Distrere, the horse rode by a knight 

in the tournament 
Dites, ditties 
Dochter, s. daughter 
Dois, s. Doys, does 
Dole, grief 

Dot. See Deol, Dule 
Dolours, dolorous, mournful 
Dolefuldumps, pp. 49, col. 2, 69, 

col. 2, sorrowful gloom, or 

heaviness of heart 
Don, p down 
Dosend, s. dosing, drowsy, torpid, 

benumbed, &c. 
Doth, Doihe, doeth, do 
Doubt, fear 
Doublet, a man's inner garment, 

waistcoat 
Doubteous, doubtful 
Doughetie, i. e. doughty man 
Doughte, Doughete, Doughetie, 

Dowghtye, doughty, formidable 
Doughtiness of dent, sturdiness of 

blows 
Dounae, s. p. 11, col. 2, am not 

able ; properly, cannot take the 

trouble 
Doute, doubt. Item, fear 
Doutted, doubted, feared 
Douzty, doughty 
Dozter, daughter 
Doz-trogh, a dough-trough, a 

kneading trough 
Drake. See Brenand Drake 
Drap, s. drop 
Dropping, s. dropping 
Dre, p. 4. col. 1, Drie, p. 31, col. 

1, suffer 
Dreid, s. Dreede, Drede, dread 
Dreips, s. drips, drops 
Dirinj, s. dreary 
Drie, s. suffer 
Drouyers, drovers, p. 67, col. 2, 

such as drive herds of cattle, 

deer, &c. 
Drone, drew 
Drye, p. 8, col. 2, suffer 
Dryghnes, dryness 
I) rung, drink 

Dryvan, p. 2, col. 2, drovers 
Duble dyne, double (false) dice 
Dude, did. Dudest, didst 
Dughtie, doughty 
Dale, s. Duel, Dol, Dole, grief 



Dwellan, Duelland, s. dwelling 

Dyan, Dyand, s. dying 

Duee, s. dice, chequer-work 

Dyd, Dyde, did 

Dyghi, p. 4, col. 1, dight, p. 11, 

col. 2, dressed, put on, put 
Dyht, to dispose, order 
Dyne, s. dinner 
Dynte, dint, blow, stroke 
Dysgysynge, disguising, masking 
Dyrt, vid. Dight 



Fame, Erne, p. 7, col. 2, uncle 

Eard, s. earth 

Earn, s. to curdle, make cheese 

Eathe, easy 

Father, s. either 

Eeh, Eche, Eiche, Elke. each 

Ee, s. Eie, eye, Een, Eyne, eves 

Ee, even, evening 

Effund, pour forth 

Eftsoon, in a short time 

Eiked, s. added, enlarged 

Ein, s. even 

Eir, Evir, s. e'er, ever 

Eke, also ; Eike, each 

Eldern, s. elder 

Eldridge, Scotice, Elriche, Elritch, 

Elriche ; wild, hideous, ghostly. 

Item, lonesome, uninhabited, 

except by spectres, &c. Gloss. ! 

to A. Ramsay, Elritcht, laugh, i 

Gen. Shep. a. 5. 

In the ballad of Sir Cawline, w e 
have " Eldridge Hill," p. 12, col. I- i 
Eldridge Knight, p. 12, col. 1, p. 14> 
col. 1. Eldridge Sword, p. 13, col. 1- 
So Gawin Douglas calls the Cyclops* 
the " Elriche Brethir," i. e. brethren ; 
and in his Prologue, he thus describes 
the night-owl, 

" Laithely of forme, with crukit cam- 
scho beik, 

Ugsome to here was his wyld Elriche 
skriek." 

In Bannatyne's MS. Poems (fol. 135, 
in the Advocates' Library at Edin 
burgh) is a whimsical rhapsody of a 
deceased old woman, travelling in the 
other world, in which, 
" Scho wanderit, and zeid, by to an 
Elrich well." 

In the Glossary to G. Douglas, El- 
riche, &c, is explained by "wild, hide- 
ous, Lat. Trux. immanis ■" but it seems 
to imply somewhat more, as in Allan 
Ramsay's Glossary. 

Elke, each 

Ellumvnge, p. 26, col. 1, embel- 
lishing. To illumine a book 
was to ornament it with paint- 
ings in miniature 

Ellyconys, s. Helicons 

Elvish, peevish, fantastical 

Erne, kinsman, uncle 

Endyed, dyed 

Ene, s. Eyn, eyes, Ene, s. even 

Enharpid, &c. p. 26, col. 1 , hooked, 
or edged with mortal dread 

Fnkankcred, cankered 

Enouch, s. enough 

Ensue, follow 

Eniendement, f. understanding 



GLOSSARY. 



297 



Ententifty, to the intent, purposely 
Envie, Envye, malice, ill-will, in- 
jury 
£7*, Ere, before, are, Ere, ear 
Erst, s. heretofore 
Etermynable, p. 26, col. 2, inter- 
minable, unlimited 
Ettled, aimed 
Evanished, s. vanished 
Everiche, every, each 
Everychone, every one 
Everych, cue, every one 
Ewbughts, or Ewe-boaghts, s. are 
small inclosures, or pens, into 
which the farmers drive (Sco- 
tice, weir) their milch ewes 
morning and evening, in order 
to milk them. They are com- 
monly made with fall-dykes, i.e. 
earthen dykes 
Ezar, azure 
Each, Feche, fetch 
Fader, Fatheris, s. father, fathers 
Fadge, s. a thick loaf of bread, 
figuratively, any coarse heap of 
stuff 
Fa, s. fall 
Fa's s. thou fallest 
Fain, Fayne, glad, fond 
Eaine, Fayne, feign 
Faine of Jighte, fond of fighting 
Fair of feir, s. of a fair and health- 
ful look. (Ramsay) perhaps, 
far off (free from) fear 
Fallan, Falland, s. falling 
Falds, s. thou foldest 
Fals, false. Item, falleth 
Falser, a deceiver, hypocrite 
Falsing, dealing in falshood 
Fannes, instruments for winnow- 
ing corn 
Fang, seize carry off 
Farden, p. 14, col.l, fared, flashed 
Fare, go, pass, travel 
Fare, the price of a passage, shot, 

reckoning 
Farley, wonder 
Faulcone, faulcon 

Fauzt, faucht, s. fought. It., fight 
Fawn, s. fallen 
Fay, s. faith 
Fuyere, p. 7, col. 1, fair 
Faytors, deceivers, dissemblers, 

cheats 
Feaie, Fere, Feire, mate 
Feat, nice, neat 
Featously, neatly, dexterously 
Fe, fee, reward ; also bribe. But 
properly fee is applied to lands 
and tenements which are held 
by perpetual right, and by ac- 
knowledgment of superiority to 
a higher lord. Thus p. 26, col. 
2, in fee, i. e. in feudal service, 
1. feudum, &c. — Blount. 
Feil, s. Fele, many. So Har- 
dinge has Lords Jele, i. e. many 
Lords 
Fei", s. F,:re, fear 
Feuiu, Feloy, fellow 



Fele, Fell, furious, skin 

Fend, defend 

Feiuiyspray, &c. p. 26, col. 2, from 
being the prey of the fiends 

Fee, reward, recompense ; it also 
signifies land when it is con- 
nected with the tenure by which 
it is held, as knight's fee, &c. 

Fere, fear. Item, companion, wife 

Ferliet, s. wondered 

Ferly, wonder, also wonderful 

Fersly, fiercely 

Feztyng, fighting 

Fesante, pheasant 

Fette, fetched 

Fetteled, prepared, addressed, made 
ready 

Fet, fetched 

Feys, s. predestinated to death, or 
some misfoi tune; under a fatality 

Fie, s. beasts, cattle 

Fillan, Filland, s. filling 

Filde, field 

Finaunce, p. 26, col. 2, fine, for- 
feiture 

Find frost, find mischance or dis- 
aster. A phrase still in use 

Firth, Frith, s. a wood. It., an arm 
of the sea, 1. fretum 

Fitt, division, part. 

Fitts, i. e. "divisions or parts in 
music," are alluded to in Troilus and 
Cressida, A. iii, sc. 1. See Mr Stee- 
vens's note. So in Shakspear's King 
Henry V. (A. 3, sc. 8,) the king says 
" My army's but a weak and sickly 
guard, 
Yet God before, tell him ee will come 
ou." 

Fit, p. 3, col. 1, Fyt, p. 42, col. 2, 
Fytte, p. 21, cof. 2, part or di- 
vision of a song. Hence in p. 
18, col. 2,fytt, is a strain of 
music 

Fit, s. foot 

Fit, s. feet 

Fiveteen, fifteen 

Flayne, flayed 

Fles, p. fleece 

Fleyke, 134, a large kind of hur- 
dle.. Cows are frequently 
milked in hovels made of fleykes 

Flindars, s. pieces, splinters 

Flowan, s. flowing 

Flyte, to contend with words, scold 

Foo, p. 9, col. 1, foes 

Fond, contrive, also endeavour, fly 

Fonde, found 

Forbode, commandment, p. 46, col 
2, 6 ver. God forbode, [Prceter 
Dei preceptum sit.] q. d. God 
forbid 

Force, no force, no matter 

Forced, regarded, heeded 

Foregoe, quit, give up, resign 

Forewearied, much wearied 

Forfend, prevent, defend 

Forfend, avert, hinder 

For-fou°ht, overfought 

Formare, former 

For, on account of 



Forsede, p. 25, col. 2, regarded 
heeded 

Fors, I do no fors, I don't care 

Forst, heeded, regards d 

Forst, forced, compelled 

Forsters of the fe, p. 45, col. 2, 
foresters of the king's demesnes 

Fort, drunk 

Forthy, therefore 

Forthynketh, p. 45, col. 2, repent- 
eth, vexeth, troubletli 

Fou, Fow, s. full, also fuddled 

Fou, Fow, s. full. Item, drunk 

Fowardc, Vawarde, the van 

Forwatcht, overwatched, kept 
awake 

Frae, s. fro, from 

Frae they begin, from their be- 
ginning, from the time they 
begin 

Freake, Freke, Freyke, man, person, 
human creature, also a whim or 
maggot 

Ereake, Freke, Freyke, man, human 
creature 

Fre-bore, p. 21, col. 2, free-born 

Freekys, p. 3, col. 2, persons 

Freits, s. ill omens, ill luck, any 
old superstitious saw, or im- 
pression, p. 31. col. 2 

An ingenious correspondent in the 
Norih thinks Freit is not an unlucky 
omen, but, "that thing which terrifies," 
viz. Terrors will pursue them that look 
after frightful things. Fright is pro- 
nounced by the common people in the 
North Freet, p. 31, col. 2. 
Freere, Fere, mate, companion 
Freen Fryars, friars, monks 
Freyke, humour, indulge, freak- 
ishly, capriciously 
Freyned, asked 
Frie s. Fre, free 
Fruward, forward 
Furth, forth 

Fuyson foyson, plenty, also sub- 
stance 
Fowkin, a cant word for a fart 
Fyers, (intro.) fierce 
Fykkill, fickle 
Fyll, p. 25, col. 1, fell 
Fyled, fyling, defiled, defiling 
Fyr, fire 

G 
Gaberlunzie, Gaberlunye, s. a wallet 
Gaberlunzie-man, s. a wallet-man,. 

i. e. tinker, beggai 
Gadlings, gadders, idle fellows 
Gadryng, gathering 
Gae, s. gave 
Gae, Gaes, s. go, goes 
Gaed, Gade, s. went 
Ga, Gais, s. go, goes 
Gair, s. geer, dress 
Galliard, a sprightly kind of dance 
Gamon, p. 12, col. 2, to make 

game, to sport, a. s. Lamenian, 

jocari. Hence backgammon 
Gane, Gan, began 
Gane, s. gone 
Gang, s. go 





GLOSSARY. 




Ganude s p. 3, col. 2, gained | 


Graithed gowden, s. was caparison- 


Handbow, p. 47, col. 2, the long- 


Garde, Chirred, made 


ed with gold 


bow, or common bow, as dis- 


Gare, Gar, s. make, cause, force, 


(irnmercye, i. e. I thank you, f. 
Grand-mercie 


tinguished from the cross-bow 


compel 


Han, have, 3 pers. plur. 


Gargeyld, p. 27, col. 1, from Gar- 


Grattnge, p. 77, col. 1, granary, also 


Hare swerdes, their swords 


gouille, f. the spout of a gutter. 


a lone country house 


Huried, harried, haryed, harowed, 


The tower was adorned with 


Graythed, s. decked, put on 


pp.6, col. 2, 43, col. 1, robbed, 


spouts cut in the figures of 


Grea-honde*, grey-hounds 


pillaged, plundered. " He har- 


greyhounds, lions, &c. 


Greece, p. 44, col. 2, fat, (a fat 


ried a bird's nest." — Scot. 


Gar, s. to make, cause, &c. 


hart) from f. graisse 


Harrowed, harrassed, disturbed 


Garland, p. 23, col. 1, the ring 


Grece, a step, p, 27, col. 2, a flight 


Harhcke, p. 79, col. 2, perhaps 


within which the prick or mark 


of steps, Grees 


charlocke, or wild rape, which 


was set to be shot at 


Gree, s. prize, a victory 


bears a yellow flower, and 


Gart, Garred, s. made 


Greened, grew gieen 


grows among corn, &.c. 


Gayed, made gay (their clothes) 


Gvennyng, p. 19, col 2, grinning 


Harnisine, harness, armour 


Gear, Geire, Geir, Gair, s. goods, 


Greet, s. weep 


Hartly lust, p. 26, col. 1. hearty 


effects, stuff 


Gret, great, grieved, swoln, ready 


desire 


Gederede ys host, gathered his 


to burst 


Hurwos, harrows 


host 


Gret, Grat, great 


Hastarddis, p. 25, col. t, perhaps 


Gef, Geve, give 


Greves, Groves, bushes 


hasty rash fellows, or upstarts, 


Geid, s. gave 


Groomes, attendants, servants 


qu. 


Geere will sivay, this matter will 


Grouudwa, groundwall 


Hauld, s. to hold. Item, hold, 


turn out, affair terminate. 


Groicende, Growynd, ground 


strong, bold 


Gerte, (intro.) pierced 


Grownes, grounds, (rythmi gratia. 


Hauss-bane, s. the neck-bone, 


1 Gest, act, feat, story, history, (it 


Vid. Sowne) 


(halse-bone) a phrase for the 


is jest in MS.) 


Growte, in Nothamptonshire is a 


neck 


Getinge, what he had got, his 


kind of small beer extracted 


Haves, (of) effects, substance, 


plunder, booty 


from the malt after the strength 


riches 


Geve, Gevend, give, given 


has been drawn off. In Devon 


Hav, have 


Gibed, jeered 


it is a kind of sweet ale medi- 


Haviour, behaviour 


Gie, Gien, s. give, given 


cated with eggs, said to be a 


Hawberk, a coat of mail consisting 


Giff. if 


Danish liquor. 


of iron rings, &c. 


Gxfe, Giff, if 


Growte is a kind of fare much used 


Hawkin, synonymous to Hath in, 


Gi, Gie, s. give 
Gitlore, (Irish) plenty 


by Danish sailors, being boiled groats, 
(i. e. hulled oats) or else shelled barley, 
served up very thick, and butter added 


dimin. of Harry. 
Hayll, advantage, profit, (p. 7, 


Gimp, Jimp, s. neat, slender 


to it. (Mr. Lambe). 


col. 1, for the profit of all Eng- 


Gin, s. an, if 


Grippel, griping, tenacious, mi- 


land,) a. s. Heel, salus 


Gin, Gyn, engine, contrivance 


serly 


Heal, p. 3, col. 2, hail 


Gi?is, begins 


Grype, a griffin 


Heave, here, hair 


Gip, an interjection of contempt 


Grysely groned, p. 8, col. 2, dread- 


Hear, p. 3, col. 2, here 


Girt, s. pierced, Thorough-girt 


fully groaned 


Heathenness, the heathen part of 


pierced through 


Gnde, Guid, Geud, s. good 


the world 


Give owre, s. surrender 


Guerdon, reward 


Hech, hatch, small door 


Give, Gif, Giff, if 


Gule, red 


Hecht to lay thee law, s. promised 


! Glaive, f. sword 


Gybe, jest, joke 


engaged to lay thee low 


Glede, p. 2, col. 2, a red-hot coal 


Gyle, guile 


Hede, Hied, he'd, he would, 


Glee, merriment, joy 


Gyles, guiles 


heed 


Glen, s. a narrow valley 


Gyn, engine, contrivance 


Hed, Hede, head 


Glenie, glanced, slipt 


Gyrd, girded , lashed 


Hee's, s. he shall, also he has 


Glie, s. glee, merriment, joy 


Gyse, s. guise, form, fashion 


He, p. 2, col. 2, Hee, p. 7, col. 1, 


Glist, s. glistered 




Hye, high 


Glose, p. 25, col. 1, set a false 


H 


He, Hie, hasten 


gloss or colour 


Habhe ase he brew, have as he 


He, p. 44, col. 2 , Hye, to hie or 


Glowr, s. stare, or frown 


brews 


hasten 


Gloze, canting dissimulation, fair 


Habergeon, f. a lesser coat of mail 


Heicht, s. height 


outside 


liable, p. 25, col. 1, able 


Heiding-hill, s. the 'heading (i. e. 


Goddes, p. 26, col. 1, goddess 


Haggis, a sheep's stomach stuffed 


beheading) hill. The place of 


Gode, (intro.) good 


with a pudding made of mince- 


execution was anciently an arti- 


Good, p. sc. a good deal 


meat , &c. 


ficial hillock 


Good-e'ens, good e'enings 


Ha, Hue, s. have. Item, hall 


Ilril, s. hell, health 


Gode, Godness, good, goodness 


lla.s. hall 


Heir, s. here, p. 3, col. 1, hear 


God before, i. e. God be thy guide, 


lln, have. Ha, s. hall 


Helen, heal 


a form of blessing 


Hail, Hale, s. whole, altogether 


Helpeth, help ye 


Goggling eyen, goggle eyes 


Hatched, liaised, saluted, embra- 


Hem, Em, tin in 


Gone, (intro.) go. 


ced, fell on his neck, from halse, 


Heiine, hence 


Gorget, the dress of the neck 


the neck, throat 


Heml, kind, gentle 


Gowan, s. the common yellow 


Haletome, wholesome, healthy 


1 lente, (intro.) help, pulled 


crow-foot, or goldcup 


Halt, boldeth 


Hent, llinle, held, laid hold of, 


Gtnod, s. Gouldf gold 


Home, Hamward, home, home- 


also received 


Grume, scarlet 


ward 


Heo, (intro.) they 



GLOSSARY. 



Heere, p. 24, col. 1, hear 

Here, their, hear, hair 

Her, hare, their 

Herkneth, hearken ye 

Ht-rt, Herds, heart, hearts 

Hes. s. has 

Hest, hast 

H°.st, p. 12, col. 2, command, in- 
junction 

Z/ett, Hight, hid, call, command 

He*, hot 

Hether, hither 

Hether, s. heath, a low shrub that 
grows upon the moors, &c. so 
luxuriantly as to choak the 
grass, to prevent which the in- 
habitants set whole acres of it 
on fire, the rapidity of which 
gave the poet that apt and noble 
simile, in p. (Mr. Hutchinson.) 

Heuch, s. a rock or steep hill 

Hevede, Hevedest, had, hadst 

Heveriche, Hevenrich, heavenly 

Hewkes, heralds' coats 

Hewyne in to, hewn in two 

Hewyng, Hewinge, hewing, hack- 
ing 

Hey-day guise, frolick, sportive 
frolicksome manner 

This word is perhaps corruptly 
given, being apparently the same with 
Heyueguies, or Heydeguives, which 
occurs in Spenser, and means a " wild 
frolick dance." — Johnson's Dictionary. 

Heynd, Hend, gentle, obliging 

Heyre, high, Heyd, s. hied 

Hicht, A-hicht, s. on height 

Hie dames to wail, s. high (or 
great) ladies to wail, or, has- 
ten, ladies, to wail, &c. 

Hie, Hye, He, Hee, high 

Hight, p. 13, col. 1, p. 3, col. 2, 
engage, engaged, promised, 
p. 40, col. 1, named, called 

Hi, Hie, p. 21, col. 1, he 

Hillys, hills 

Hilt, taken off, flayed, Sax.hylden 

Hinch-boys, Hench, properly 
haunch-men, pages of honour, 
pages attending on persons of 
office 

Hind, s. behind 

Hinde, Hend, gentle 

Hings, s. hangs 

Hinny, s. houey 

Hip, Hep, the berry which con- 
tains the stones or seeds of the 
dog-rose 

Hir, Hir lane, s. her, herself alone 

Hirsel, s. herself 

Hit, p. 3, col. 2, it 

Hit, it, Hit be write, it be written 

Hode, hood, cap 

Hoo, ho, p. 6, col. 1 , an interjection 
of stopping or desisting, hence 
stoppage 

Hollen, probably a corruption for 
holly 

Hoi den, hold 



Hole, whole. Holl, idem 

Hooly. s. slowly 

Holies, woods, groves, p. 7, col. 1, 
in Norfolk a plantation of 
cherry trees, is called a "cherry 
holt," also sometimes " hills." 
Holtes seems evidently to signify 

hills in the following passage from Tu- 

berville's " Songs and Sonnets," 12mo, 

1567, fol. 56. 
" Yee that frequent the hilles, 
And highest Holtes of all, 
Assist me with your skilful quilles, 
And listen when I call." 

As also in this other verse of an ancient 

poet, 
" Underneath the Holtes so hoar." 

Holtis hair, s. hoar bills 

Holy-roode, holy cross 

Holy, p. 26, col. 1, wholly, or per- 
haps hole, whole 

Horn, Hem, them 

Honden ivrynge, hands wring 

Hondridth, Hondred, hundred 

Hone, hand 

Honge, hang, hung 

Hontyng, hunting 

Hop-halt, limping, hopping, and 
halting 

Hose, stockings 

Hount, hunt 

Houzle, give the sacrament 

Hoved, p. 27, col. 1, heaved, or 
perhaps hovered (p. 7, col. 1,) 
hung moving, (Gl. Chauc.) 
Hoved or hoven means in the 
North swelled. But Mr. 
Lambe thinks it is the same as 
houd, still used in the North, 
and applied to any light sub- 
stance heaving to and from an 
undulating surface. The vowel 
u is often used there for the 
consonant v 

Howeres, Howers, hours 

Huerte, heart 

Huggle, hug, clasp 

Hye, Hyest, high, highest 

Hyghte, p. 8, col. 1, on high, 
aloud 

Hyp-halt, lame in the hip 

Hyndattowre, s. behind, over, or 
about 

Hys, his, also is 

Hyt, (intro.) it 

Hyznes, highness 



Ich, I, Ich biqueth, I bequeath 

Iclipped, called 

Iff, if 

lfere, to gather 

Ffeth, in faith 

llfardly, s. ill-favoured, uglily 

lid, I'd, I would 

He, I'll, I will 

Ilka, s. each, every one 

like, every Ilk, every one 

Ilk, This Ilk, s. this same 

Ilk one, each one 

I-lore, lost, I-strike, stricken 

Im, p. 21, col. 1, him 



Impe, a little demon 

In fere, lfere, to gather 

Ingle, s. fire 

Inowe, enough 

Into, s. in 

lnires, p. 27, col. 2, entrance, ad- 
mittance 

Io forth, corruptly printed so, 
should probably be loo, i. e. 
halloo 

Ireful, angry, furious 

Ise, I shall 

Is, p. 21, col. 1, is, his 

J trowe, (I believe) verily 

Its neir, s. it shall ne'er 

I-tuned, tuned 

I-ween, (I think) verily 

/ whse, (1 know) verily 

I wot, ( I know) verily 

I wys, I wis, (I know) verily 

lye, eye 

J anglers, talkative persons, tell- 
tales, also wranglers 

Jenkin, diminutive of John 

Jimp, s, slender 

Jogelers, p. 35, col. 1, jugglers 

Jo, s. sweet-heart, friend. Jo is 
properly the contraction of joy, 
so rejoice is written rejoce in 
old Scottish MSS. particularly 
Banatyne's — passim 

Jow, s. joll or jowl 

Jupe, s. an upper garment, fr. a 
petticoat 

K 

Kail, p. 26, col. 2, call 

Kame, s. comb 

Kameing, s. combing 

Kan, p. 25, col. 2. can 

Kantle-piece, corner 

Karls, carls, churls, Karlis of kynd, 
p. 25, col. 1, churls by nature 

Kauk, s. chalk 

Kauted, p. 21, col. 1, called 

Kawle and keene, p. 7, col. 2, cau- 
tious and active. 1. cautus 

Keipand, s. keeping 

Keel, s. raddle 

Kempes, soldiers, warriors 

Kemper ye-man, p. 18, col. 2, sol- 
dier, warrior, fighting-man 

" Germanis camp, exercitum, aut lo- 
cum ubi exercitus castrametatur, signifi- 
cat: inde ipsis vir Castrensis, et mili- 
taris kemffer, et kempher, et kemper, et 
kimber, et hamper, pro varietate dialecto- 
rum, vocatur. Vocabulum hoc nostro 
sermone nondnm penitus exolevit: 
Norfolcienses enim plebeio, et proleta- 
rio sermone dicunt." He is a kemper 
old man, i. e. " Senex vegetus est." 
" Hinc Cimbris suum nomen ; " Kimber 
enum homo bellicosus pugil, robustus 
miles, &c, significat." Sheringham dt> 
Antdor. gentis orig. pag. 57. Rectius au 
tem Lazius [apud eundem, p. 49]. "Cim 
bros a bello quod kamff, et Saxonice 
kamp, nuncupatos crediderim, unde 
bellatores viri die kempffer, die kemper." 

Kempt, combed 
Kerns, s. combs 
Kend, s. knew 



300 



GLOSSARY. 



Ken, Kenst, know, knowest 

Ketie, keen 

Keepe, p. 80, col. 2, care, heed. 
So in the old play of Hick 
Scorner (in the last leaf but 
one), " I keepe not to clymbe 
so hye," i. e. I study not, care 
not, &c. 

Kepers, &c, p. 47, col. 2, those 
that watch by the corpse shall 
tye up my winding-sheet 

Kever-chefes, handkerchiefs, (vid. 
introd.) 

Kid, Kyd, Kithe, made known, 
shown 

Kilted, s. tucked up 

Kind, Kinde, nature, p. to carp is 
our kind, it is natural for us to 
talk of 

Kirk, s. church 

Kirk-ica, s. p. church wall, or per- 
haps church-yard-wall 

Kinn, s. churn 

Kirtle, a petticoat, woman's gown 

Kists, s. chests 

Kit, p. 26, col. 1, cut 

Kith and kin, acquaintance and 
kindred 

Kithe or Kin, acquaintance nor 
kindred 

Knave, p. 23, col. 2, servant 

Knellan, Knelland, s. knelling, 
ringing the knell 

Knicht, s. knight 

Knights fee. such a portion of land 
as required the possessor to 
serve with man and horse 

Knowles, Knolls, little hills 

Knyled, knelt 

Kowarde, coward 

Kowe, cow 

Knrteis, p. 26, col. 1, courteous 

Kuntrey, p. 26, col. 1, countrey 

Kjfthe, appear, also make appear, 
shew, declare 

Kythed, s. appeared 

Kyrtell, vid. Kirtle. In the introd. 
it signifies a man's under gar- 
ment 
Bale, in hisActesof English Votaries, 

('2nd part, fol. 53), uses the word Kyr- 

tle to signify a Monk's Frock. He 

sa>» Roger Earl of Shrewsbury, when 

he was dying, sent " to Clunyake, in 

Prance, for the Kyrtle of Hugh the 

Abbot there," &c. 

Kye, Kine, cows 

L. 
T.acke, want 

7 aide unto her, imputed to her 
Laith, b. loth 

Laithly, s. loathsome, hideous 
Lambs-wool, B cant phrase for ale 

and roasted apples, p. 
lane, Jjiin, s. lone. Her lane, 

alone by herself 
Lang, s. long 
Langsome, s. p. 63, col. 2, long, 

tedious 
Lap. s. leaped 



Largesse, f. gift, liberality 

Lasse, less 

Lauch, lauched, s. laugh, laughed 

Launde, p. 44, col. 2, lawn 

Lay den, laid 

Laye, p. 12, col. 2, law 

Lay-land, p. 12, col. 2, land that 

is not plowed, green-sward 
Lay-lands, p. 14, col. 1, lands in 

general 
Layne, lain. Yid. Leane 
Layne, lien, also laid 
Leal, Leil, s. loyal, honest, true, 

f. loyal 
Leane, p. 8, col. 1, conceal, hide. 

Item, lye, (query) 
Leanyde, leaned 
Learnd, learned, taught 
Lease, p, 44, col. 2, lying, false- 
hood. Withouten lease, verily 
Leasynge, lying, falshood 
Leeche, physician 
Leec/imge,doctoring,medicinalcare 
Leffe (Introd.) Leefe, dear 
Lefe, p. 45. col. 2, Leeve, dear 
Leid, s. lyed 

Leiman, Leman, lover, mistress 
Leir, s. Lere, learn 
Leive, s. leave 
Leek, phrase of contempt 
Lea, lea, field, pasture 
Lee, p. 31, col. 2, lea, the field 
Lee, s. lie 
Lemman, lover 
Leman, leaman, leiman, lover, 

mistress, a. s. lemman 
Lenger, longer 
Lengeth in, resideth in 
Leer, p. 85, col. 1, look 
Lere, p. 14, col. 1, face, complex- 
ion, a. s. hleafie, facies, vultus 
Lerned, learned, taught 
Leese, s. lose 
Lett, Laite, hinder, slacken, 

leave off, Late, let 
Lettest, hinderest, detainest 
Let, p. 2, col. 1, hinder, p. 18, col. 

1, hindred 
Lettyng, hindrance, i. e. without 

delay 
Leuch, Leugh, s, laughed 
Leeve London, p. 73, col. 1, dear 

London, an old phrase 
Leeveth, believeth 
Lever, rather 
Leves and Boues, leaves and 

boughs 
Lewd, ignorant, scandalous 
Leyke, Like, play 
Leyre, lere, p. 79, col. 2, learning, 

lore 
Lihbards-barie, a herb so called 
Libbard, leopard 

Lichily, s. lightly, easily, nimbly 
Lie, s. Lee, field, plain 
Liege-men, vassals, subjects 
Lig, s. lie 
Lightly, easily 
Lightsome, ehearful, sprightly 

Lihed, p. BO, col. i, pleased 



Limitours, friars licensed to beg 
within certain limits 

Limiiacioune, a certain precinct 
allowed to a limitour 

Lingell, a thread of hemp rubbed 
with rosin, &c, used by rustics 
for mending their shoes 

Lire, flesh, complexion 

Lith, Lithe, Lythe, p. 40, col. 2, 
attend, hearken, listen 

Lither, p. 18, col. 2, idle, worth- 
less, naughty, froward 

Liver, deliver 

Liverance, p. 74, col. 2, deliver- 
ance, (money, or a pledge, for 
delivering you up) 

Lodlye, loathsome. Yid. Lothly 

Lo'e, Loed, s. love, loved 

Lought, Lowe, Lugh, laughed 

Loo, halloo ! 

Loht, (Ballad 1, ver. 45) 

Lake, p. 80, col. 1, lock of wool 

Longes, belongs 

Lope, leaped 

Lorrel, Losel, a sorry worthless 
person 

Lore, lesson, doctrine, learning 

Lore, lost 

Looset, losed, loosed 

Lothly, (vide Lodlye,) loathsome 

The adverbial terminations some 
and ly were applied indifferently by 
our old writers: thus as we have Lothly 
for loathsome, so we have Ugsovk in 
a sense not very remote from Ugly, in 
Lord Surrey's Version of iEneid, 11. 
viz. " In every place the ugsome sights 
I saw." 

Loud and still, phrase, at all times 

Lough, p. 44, col. 1, laugh 

Louked, looked 

Lounge, (Introd.) lung 

Loun, s. p. 83, col. 2, Lown, p. 
52, col. 2, Loon, rascal, from 
the Irish, Linn, slothful, slug- 
gish 

Lourd, Lour, s. Lever, had rather 

Louted, Lowtede, lowed, did obei- 
sance 

Loveth, love, plural number 

Lowe, p. 23, col. 2, a little hill 

Lowns, s. blazes, rather opposed 
to windy, boisterous 

Lowte, Lout, bow, stoop 

Lude. Luid, Luivt, s. loved 

Luef, love 

Lues, Luve, s. loves, love 

Luicks, s. looks 

Lurden, p. 43, col. 1, Lurdeyne. 
sluggard, drone 

Lyon, Lyand, s. lying 

l.yord, grey, a name given to a 
horse from its grey colour, as 
Bayard, from bay 

Lynde, p. p. 44, col. 1, 44, col. 2, 
Lyne, p. 23, col. 1. See Linde 

Lynde, p. 44, col. 2, the lime tree, 
or collectively lime trees, or 
trees in general 

Lys, lies 

Lystenyth, (Introd.) listen 



GLOSSARY. 



3U 



Lyth p. 79, col. 2, Lythe, Lyth- 
some, pliant, flexible, easy, 
gentle 

Lyven na More, live no more, no 
longer 

Lyzt, light 

M 

Maden, made 

]\!aliound, Mahowne, Mahomet 

Mair, s. Mare, more 

Mait, s. might 

Mnjeste, Maist, Mayeste, may'st 

Making, sc. verses, versifying 

Makys, Makes, mates 

As the words make and mate were 
in some cases used promiscuously by 
ancient writers ; so the words cake and 
cate seem to have been applied with 
the same indiffeiency : this will illus- 
trate that common English Proverb, 
*• to turn Cat (i. e. Cate) in pan." A 
Pan-cake is in Northamptonshire still 
called a Pan-cate. 

Male, p. 3, col. 2, coat of mail 

Mane, p. 3, col, 1, man. Item 
moan 

Mane, Maining, s.moan, moaning 

Mangonel, an engine used for dis- 
charging great stones, arrows, 
&c. before the invention of gun- 
powder 

March perti, p. 4, col. 2, in the 
parts lying upon the marches 

March-pine, p. 79, col. 2, March- 
pane, a kind of biscuit 

Margarite, a pearl, 1. 

Marrow, s. equal 

Mark, a coin, in value 13s. 4d. 

Mart, s. marred, hurt, damaged 

Mast, Maste, may'st 

Masterye, p. 22, col. 2, Mayestry, 
p. 46, col. 1, a trial of skill, 
high proof of skill 

Mavgre, spite of, ill will (I in- 
cur) 

Maugre, in spite of 

Manger, Maugre, spite of 

Maun, s. must 

Maun, s. Mun, must 

Maiis, s. a thrush 

Mawt, s. malt 

Mayd, Mayde, maid 

Maye, p. 8, col. 1, maid,(rhythmi 
gratia) 

Mayne, p. 14, col. 2, force, 
strength, p. 22, col. 1, horse's 
mane 

Maze, a labyrinth, any thing en- 
tangled or intricate 

On the top of Catherine-Hill, Win- 
chester, (the usual play-place of the 
school,> was a very perplexed and 
winding path running in a very small 
space over a great deal of ground, 
called a Miz-Maze. The senior boys 
obliged the juniors to tread it, to pre- 
vent the figure from being lost, as I 
am informed by an ingenious corre- 
spondent. 

Mean, moderate, middle sized 



Meany, retinue, train, company 
Meed, Meede, reward 
Meid, s. mood 

Meise, s. soften, reduce, mitigate 
Meit, s. Meet, fit, proper 
Mell, honey ; also, meddle, min- 
gle 
Me, men, Me con (men 'gan) 
Men of armes, p. 8, col. 1, gens 

d' armes 
Meniveere, a species of fur 
Mense the f aught, s. p. measure the 
battle. To give to the mense, 
is to give above the measure. 
Twelve, and one to the mense, 
is common with children in 
their play 
Menzie, s. Meaney, retinue, com- 
pany 
Merches, marches 
Messager, f. messenger 
Me-thunketh, methinks 
Met, Meit, s. Mete, meet, fit, proper 
Meyne. See Meany 
Mickle, much, great 
Micht, might 
Midge, a small insect, a kind of 

gnat - 
Miahtte, mighty 

Minged, p. 12, col. 2, mentioned 
Minny, s. mother 
Minstral,s. minstrel, musician, &c 
Minstrelsie, music 
Mirke, s. dark, black 
Mirkie, dark, black 
Mirry, s. Men, merry 
Misdoubt, p. 78, col. 1, suspect, 

doubt 
Miscreants, unbelievers 
Mishap, misfortune 
Miskaryed, miscarried 
MUken, mistake, also, in the Scot- 
tish idiom, " let a thing alone." 
(Mr. Lambe) 
Mister, s. to need 
Mither, s. mother 
Mode, p. 44, col. H mood 
Moiening, by means of, f. 
Mold, mould, ground 
Mo, Moe, more 
Mome, a dull stupid person 
Monand, moaning, bemoaning 
Mone, moon 
Mon, s. month 
Monynday, Monday 
More, originally and properly sig- 
nified a hill, (from a. s. mort, 
mons,) but the hills of the 
North being generally full of 
bogs, a Moor came to signify 
boggy marshy giound, in ge- 
neral 
Mores, p. 12, col. 1, hills, wild 

downs 
Morrownvnges, mornings 
Morne, To morn, to-morrow in the 

morning 
Morne, s. p. 20, col. 2, on the 

morrow 
Mornyng, mourning 



Mort, death of the deer 

Mosses, swampy grounds, covered 

with peat moss 
Most, must 

Mote I thee, might I thrive 
Mought, mot, mote, might 
Mowe, may, Mou. s. mouth 
Muchele bost, Mickle boast, great 

boast 
Made, s. mood 
Mulne, mill 
Mun, Maun, s. must 
Mure, Mures, s. wild downs, 

heaths, &c. 
Murne, Murnt, Murning, s. mourn, 

mourned, mourning 
Musis, muses 
Myllan, Milan steel 
Myne-ye-ple, p. 3, col, 2, perhaps, 

many plies, or folds. Monyvle 

is still used in this sense in the 

North. (Mr. Lambe) 
Myrry, merry 
Mysuryd, p. 25, col. 2, misused, 

applied to a bad purpose 
Myzt, Myzty, might, mighty 



N 



Naithing, s. nothing 

Nams, names 

Na, Nae, s. no, none 

Kane, s. none 

Nar, p. 2, col. 2, Nare, nor. Item, 

than 
Natheless, nevertheless 
Nat, not 

Near, s. Ner, Nere, ne'er, never 
Neat, oxen, cows, large cattle 
Neatherd, a keeper of cattle 
Neatresse, a female keeper of cattle 
Neigh him neare, approach him 

near 
Nee, Ne, nigh 
Neir, s. Nere, ne'er, never 
Nere ne were, were it not for 
Neist, Nyest, next, nearest 

New/angle, Newfangled, fond of 
novelty, of new fashions, &c. 

Nicked him of naye, p. 17, col. 1, 
nicked him with a refusal 

Nicht, s. night 

Nipt, pinched 

Noble, a gold coin, in value 20 
groats, or 6s. 8d. 

Nobles, p. 25, col. 1, Noblesse, no- 
bleness 

Nollys, noddles, heads 

Nom, took, Nome, name 

Nonce, purpose, For the nonce, for 
the occasion 

Non, none, None, noon 

Norland, s. northern 

Norse, s. Norway 

North-gales, North Wales 

Non, now 

Nourice, s, nurse 

Nout, Nocht, s. nought, also not, 
seems for ' ne mought' 

Nowght, nought 



302 



GLOSSARY. 



Nowlt, noddles, heads 
Noye, v. 175, annoy, query 
Next, nought, not 
Nurtured, educated, bred up 
Nye, Ny, nigh 
Nyxtj night 

O 

O bra id, s. upbraid 

Ocht, s. ought 

Oferlyng, superior, paramount, 
opposed to underling 

gin, s. O if, a phrase 

Oufoughten, Unjoughten, unfougbt 

On-lojt, aloft 

On, one, an 

On, one, On man, p. 3, col. l,one 
man 

One, on 

Ony, s. any 

Onyx, once 

Or, Ere, before ; or seems to 
have the force of the Latin vel 
and to signify even 

Ov-cre pp. 6, col. 1, 7, col. 1, be- 
fore 

Or-eir, before ever 

Orisons, s. prayers, f. oraisons 

Ost, Oste, Oosi, host. 

Ou, Oure, you, your. Ibid., our 

Out alas! exclamation of grief 

Out-hrayde, drew out, unsheathed 

Out-horn, the summoning to arms 
by the sound of a horn 

Out oner, s. quite over, over 

Outrcike, p. 75, col. 2, an out-ride 
or expedition. To raik, s. is to 
go fast. Outrake is a common 
term among shepherds. When 
their sheep have a free passage 
from inclosed pastures into 
open and airy grounds they 
call it a good outrake. (Mr. 
Lambe). 

Oware of none, hour of noon 

Owches, bosses or buttons of gold 

Owene, Auen, Ain, s. own 

Oure, Owr, s. o'er 

Owre, s. over 

Owre word, s. the last word, the 
burthen of a song 

Out, out 



Pall, a cloak or mantle of state 
Pulle, a robe of state. Purple and 
pall, i. e. a purple robe or cloak, 
a phrase 
Palmer, a pilgrim, who, having 
been at the Holy Land, carried 
a palm branch in bis hand. 
Paramow, lover. Item, a mistress 
Pardc, Perdie, verily, f. par dieu 
Parcgall, e<|u;d 
Vartahe, participate, assign to 
Parti, party, ]». :>, col. 1, a part 
Pattering, murmuring, mumbling, 
from the manner in which the 
Paternoster was anciently hur- 



ried over, in a low, inarticulate 
voice 

Pa, s. the river Po 

Pauky, s. shrewd, cunning, sly, 
or saucy, insolent 

Paves, p. 25, col. 1, a pavioe, a 
large shield that covered the 
whole body, f. pauvois 

Pavilliant>, pavillion, tent 

Pay, liking, satisfaction, hence 
well apaid, i. e. pleased, highly 
satisfied 

Paynim, pagan 

Peakish, p. 77, col 1 

Pearlins, a coarse sort of bone- 
lace 

Pece, Piece, sc. of cannon 

Pele, a baker's peel 

Penon, a banner or streamer, borne 
at the top of a lance 

Pentarchye of tenses, five tenses 

Perchmine, f. parchment 

Perelous, parlous, perilous, danger- 
ous 

Per fay, verily, f. par foy 

Peere, Pere, Peer, equal 

Peer, Peerless, equal, without 
equal 

Perfght, perfect 

Peering, peeping, looking nar- 
rowly 

Perill, danger 

Perkin, diminutive of Peter 

Perlese, p. 26, col. 2, peerless 

Pees, Pese, peace 

Persit. Pearced, pierced 

Perte, part 

Periyd, parted 

Petye, pity 

Peyn, pain 

Philomene, Philomel, the nightin- 
gale 

Pibrochs, s. Highland war- tunes 

Piece, s. a little 

Pight, Pyght, pitched 

PWd p. 76, colj 1, peeled, bald 

Pine, famish, starve 

Pious chanson, p. 48, col. 1, a 
godly song, or ballad 
Mr. Rowe's Edit, has "The first row 

of the Rubrick," which has been sup- 
posed by Dr. Warburton to refer to 

the red-lettered titles of old Ballads. 

In the large collection made by Mr. 

Pepys, I do not remember to have seen 

one single ballad with its title printed 

in red letters, 

Pite, Pittye, Pyte, pity 

Plaine, complaint 

Plaining, complaining 

Play and, s. playing 

Play-feres, play fellow's 

Pleasance, pleasure 

Plem, complain 

I'lrtt, s. platted 

Plotrmell, a small wooden hammer 
occasionally fixed to the plow, 
still used in the North ; in the 
Midland counties in its stead is 
used a plow-hatchet 



Plyxt, plight 

Ploll-cut, a cant word for a whore 
Pollys, Poulls, Polls, head 
Potnpal, p. 61, col. 2, pompous 
Pondered, a term in Heraldry, for 

sprinkled over 
Popingay, a parrot 
Porcupig, porcupine, f. porcepig 
Porterner, perhaps pocket or pouch. 

Pautoniere in fr. is a shepherd's 

scrip (vide Colgrave) 
Portres, p. 27, col. 1, porteress 
Powlls, polls, head 
Potcnnes, p. 77, col. 1, pounds, 

(rhythmi gratia) 
Pow, Pou, Poived, s. pull, pulled 
Preas, Prese, press 
Preced, p. 45, col. 1, pressed, 

Presed 
Prest, f. ready 
Prestly, p. 45, col. 1, Prestlye, p. 

14, col. 1, readily, quickly 
Pricked, spurred forward, travelled 

a good round pace 
Pricke-wand, p. 23, col. l,a wand 

set up for a mark 
Prickes, p. 22, col. 2, the mark to 

shoot at 
Priefe, prove 

Priving, s. proving, tasting 
Prove, proof 
Prowess, bravery, valor, military 

gallantry 
Prowes, p. 25, col. 1, prowess 
Prude, pride. Item, proud 
Pryke, p. 46, col. 1, the mark, 

commonly a hazle wand 
Pryme, daybreak 
Puing, s. pulling 
Puissant, strong, powerful 
Pulde, pulled 
Purchased, procured 
Purfel, an ornament of embroid- 
ery 
Purfelled, embroidered 
Purvayed, provided 

Q 

Quadrant, p. 27. col. 1, four-square 

Quail, shrink, flinch, yield 

Quaint, cunning, nice, fantastical 

Quarry, p. 67, col. 1, in hunting 
or hawking is the slaughtered 
game, &c. 
j Quat, s. quitted 
I Quay, Quhey, s. a young heifer, 

called a Wiiie in Yorkshire 
j Quean, sorry, base woman 
i Quell, subdue, also kill 

Quel, cruel, murderous 

Quelch, a blow or bang 

Quere, quire, choir 

Quest, p. 43, col. 1, inquest 

Quha, s. who 

Quhair, s. where 

Quhar, s. where 

Qiiluin, Whan, s. when 

Quhaneer, s. whene'er 

Quhatten, s. what 

Quhat, s. what 











GLOSSARY. 


303 


Quhen, s. when 


Ryall, Ryal, royal 


Say, saw 


Quhy, s. why 


Richt, s. right 


Say us no harm, say no ill of us 


Quick, alive, living 


Riddle, seems to be a vulgar idiom 


Sayne, say 


1 Quillets, quibhles, 1. quidlibet 


for unriddle ; or is perhaps 


Scant, scarce. Item scantiness 


Quitt, requite 


a corruption of reade, i. e. ad- 


Schall, shall 


Quo, quoth 


vise 


Schapped, p. 8, col. 1, perhaps 


Quyk, s. while 


Ride, make an inroad 


swapped. Vid.loc. 


Quyrry, p. 2, col. 2, See Quarry 


Rin, s. run. Rin my errand, a con- 


Schattered, shattered 


above 


tracted way of speaking for 


Schaw, s. show 


Quyte, p. 4, col. 2, requited 


" run on my errand." The 


Schene, s. Sheen, shining, also 


Quyt, s. quite 


pronoun is omitted. So the 


brightness 


Qwyknit, s. quickened, restored to 


French say faire message 


Schip, s. ship 


life 


Rise, shoot, bus!), shrub 


Schiples, s. shipless 




Hive, rife, abounding 


Scho, p. 10, col, 2, Sche, p. 7, col. 


R 


Roche, rock 


1, s. she 


Bade, s. rode 


Roode-cross, crucifix 


Schone, shone 


J?ae, a roe 


Rood-loft, ihe place in the church 


Schoote, shot, let go 


Raik, s. to go a-pace, Raik on 


where the images were set 


Schowte, Schowtte, shout 


raw, go fast in a row 


up 


Schrill, s. shrill 


Raine, reign 


Rood, Roode, cross, crucifix 


Schuke, s. shook 


Raise, s. rose 


Ronne, ran, Roone, p. 7, col .l,run 


Sclat, slate, little table-book of 


Ranted, s. were merry. Vide 


Roufe, roof 


slates to write upon 


Gloss, to Gentle Shepherd 


Route, go about, travel 


Scomfit, discomfit 


Rashing, seems to be the old 


Routhe, ruth, pity 


Scot, tax, revenue, a year's tax of 


hunting term for the stroke 


Rowned, Rownyd, whispered 


the kingdom, also shot, reckon- 


made by a wild boar with his 


Row, Rowd, s. roil, rolled 


ing 


fangs. See p. 54, col. 2 


Rowyned, round 


Scathe, hurt, injury 


, Raught, reached, gained, obtained 


Rowght, rout 


Sed, said 


Rayne, reane, rain 


Rudd, ruddiness, complexion 


Seik, s. Seke, s. seek 


Raysse, race 


Rude, s. Rood, cross 


Sek, sack 


Razt, Raught, or self-bereft 


Ruell-bones, perhaps bones divers- 


Sel, Sell, self 


Reachles, careless 


ly colored, f. Riole, or perhaps 


Selver, Siller, silver 


Reade, p. 6, col. 2, Rede, advise, 


small bone rings from the f. 


Seneschall, steward 


hit off 


rouelle, a small ring or hoop. — 


Sene, seen 


Read, advice 


Cotgrave's Diet. 


Sen, s. since 


Reame, Reaume, realm 


Rues, Rwethe, pitieth 


Senvy, mustard seed, f. sen vie 


Reas, p 2, col. 2, raise 


Rugged, pulled with violence 


Sertayne, Sertenlye, certain, cer- 


Reave, bereave 


Rushy, should be Rashy gair, 


tainly 


Reckt, regarded 


rushy stuff, ground covered with 


See, Sees, s. sea, seas 


Rede, Read, advise, advice 


rushes 


Se, Sene, Seying, see. seen, seeing 


Rede, Rcdde, read 


Ruthful, rueful, woful 


Seething, boiling 


Redresse, care, labour 


Ruth, pity 


Seetywall, see Cetywall 


Refe, bereave, or perhaps Rive, 


Ruthe, pity, woe 


Seve, seven 


split 


Rydere, p. 46, col. 2, ranger 


Sey you, say to, tell you 


Refe, Reve, Reeve, bailiff 


Ryde, p. 72, col. 1, i. e. imike an 


Sey, s. say, a kind of woollen 


Reft, bereft 


inroad, Ryde, in p. 17, col. 2, 


stuff 


i Register, the officer who keeps the 


(ver. 136), should probably be 


Seyd, s. saw 


public register 


rise 


Shave, Be shave, be shaven 


Reid, s. advise 


Rynde, p. 8, col. 1, rent 


Shaws, little woods 


Reid, s. reed, Rede, red 


Ryschys, rushes 


Shear, p. 2, col. 2, entirely, (peni- 


Reidroan, s. red-roan, p. 15, col. 1 


Rywe, rue 


tus) 


Reek, s. smoke 


Ryzt, right 


Sheele, She'll, she will 


Rekeles, Recklesse, regardless, void 




Sheene, Shene, shining 


of care, rash 


S 


Sheits, Shetes, s. sheets 


Remeid, s. remedy 


Safer, sapphyre 


j Shee's, she shall 


Renneth, Renning, runneth, run- 


Soft, s. soft 


| Sheene, shining 


ning 


Saif, s. safe 


i Shent, shamed, disgraced, abused 


Renn, run, p. 51, col. 2 


Sal*", s. sore 


j Shepenes, Shipens, cow-houses, 


Renish, p. 16, col. 2, Renisnt, p. 


Saim, s. same 


sheep-pens, a. s. Scypen 


18, col. 1, perhaps a derivation 


Sail, s. shall 


Sheeve, Shive, a great slice or lun- 


from Reniteo, to shine 


Saif, s. save, Savely, safely 


cheon of bread 


Renyed, p. 25, col. 2, refused 


Saisede, seized 


Shield-bone, the blade bone, a com- 


Rescous, rescues 


Sark, shirt, shift 


mon phrase in the north 


Reeve, bailiff 


Sar, Sair, s. sore 


Shimmered, s. glittered 


Reve, bereave, deprive 


Sa, Sae, s. so 


Shimmering, shining by glances 


Revels, s. robbers, pirates, rovers 


Sat, Sete, set 


Shirt of male or mail, wes a garment 


Rewelh, regrets, has reason to re- 


Saut, s. salt 


for defence, made all of rings of 


pent 


Savyde, saved 


iron, worn under the coat. Ac- 


!?.£«., s. take pity 


Saw, Say, speech, discourse 


cording to some the hauberk 


Rewlh, ruth, Rewe, pity 


Say, A<say, attempt 


was so formed 



3u4 



GLOSSARY. 



Shorn, s. Shoom, p. 64, col. 1, 
shoes 

Shoke, p. 25, col. 2, shookest 

Shold, Sholde, should 

Shape, shaped 

Shape, betook me 

Shorte, s. shorten 

Sho, Scho, s. she 

Shote, shot 

Shradds, p. 21, col. 2. Vid. locum 

Shrewl, cut into small pieces 

Shreevcn Shriven, confessed her 
sins 

Shrew, a bad, an ill-tempered per- 
son 

Shreward, a male shrew 

Shrift, confession 

Shrive, confess. Item, hear con- 
fession 

Shrougs, shrubs, thorns, briars. 
G. Doug. Scroggis 

Shullen, shall 

Shulde, should 

Shunted, shunned 

Shurting, recreation, diversion, 
pastime. Yid. Gawin Douglas's 
Gloss. 

Shyars, shires 

Shynand, s. shining 

Sib, kin, akin, related 

Sich, Sic, s. such, Sich, s. sigh 

Sick-like, s. such like 

Side, s. long 

Sied, s. saw 

Sigh-clout, p. 52, col. 1, (Sythe- 
cloui), a clout to strain milk 
through, a straining clout 

Siglian, Sighand, s. sighing 

Sik, Sike, such 

Siker, surely, certainly 

Siller, s. silver 

Sindle, s. seldom 

Sitteth, sit ye 

Sith, p. 2, col. 2, since 

Skaith, Scuth, harm, mischief 

Skalk, perhaps from the Germ. 
Schalck, malicious, perverse 
(Sic Dan. Skalek nequitia, 
malicia, &c. Sb.eringb.am de 
Ang. Orig. p. 318); or per- 
haps from the Germ. Schalchen, 
to squint. Hence our northern 
wood Skelly, to squint 

Skinker, one that serves drink 

Skinkled, s. glittered 

Skomjit, discomfit 

Skott, shot, reckoning 

Slade, a breadth of greensward 
between plow-lands or woods, 
&c. 

Sluited, s. whetted, or perhaps 
wiped 

Stuttered, slit, broke into splinters 

Slaw, slew, p. 80, col. 1, fSo. 
Abel) 

Slam, Slone, slain 

Sleuth, slayeth 

Slee, s. slay, also sly 

Sle, Slee, Sley, Slo, slay, Sleest, 
slay est 



Sleip, s. Slepe, 

Slode, p. 12, col. 2, slit, split 
Slone, p. 13, col. 1, slain 

Slo, p. 25, col. 1, Sloe, sl&y 

Stoughe, p. 3, col. 1 , slew 

Smithers, s. smothers 

Sua, Snow, s. snow 

Soil, Saulle, Sowle, soul 

Soldain, Soldun, Soivdan, sultan 

Sonn, s. Son, sun 

Sond, a present, a sending 

Sone, soon 

Sort, company 

Soothty, truly 

Sooth, truth, true 

Soth, Sothe, South, Southe, Soath, 
truth 

Soth-Ynglonde, South England 

Soudan, Soudain, sultan 

Souldan, Soldan, Sowdan, sultan 

Sould, s. Suld, should 

Souting, victualling. Sowle is 
still used in the north for 
any thing eaten with bread ; 
a. s. suple, suple, Joh. xxi. 5, 
(or to sowle, may be from the 
French word saouler, " to stuff 
and cram, to glut." Yid, Cot- 
grave) 

Sowden, Sowduin, sultan 

Sowne, sound (rhyt. gr.) 

Sowre, sour 

Sowre, Soare. sore 

Sowter, p. 19, col. 2, shoemaker 

Soy, f. silk 

Spak, Spaik, s. spake 

Speere. Yide locum 

Spec, Spak, Spack, s. spake 

Sped, speeded, succeeded 

Speik, s. speak 

Speir,s.Spere, Speare, Speere, Spire, 
ask, enquire 

So Chaucer, in his Rhyme of Sir 

Thopas, 

" He soughte north and south, 

And oft he spii\d with his mouth." 

i. e. enquired, — not spied, as in the 

new edition of Canterbury Tales, vol. ii. 

p. 234. 

Spence, Spens, expense 

Spendyd, p. 4, col. 1, probably the 

same as spanned, grasped 
Speered, Sparred, i. e. "fastened, 

shut 

So in an old "Treatyse agaynst 
Pestilence, &c. 4to. Kinpryuted by 
Wynkyn de Worde," we are exhorted 
to " spere (i. e. shut or bar) the wy n- 
dowea agenst the south," fol. 5. 

Spillan, Spilland, s. spilling 

Spill, p. 51, col. 1, Spille, p. 15, 
col. 1, spoil, come to harm 

Spill, spoil, destroy, kill 

Spindlet and whorles, the instru- 
ments used for spinning in 
Scotland, instead of spinning 
wheels 

The rock, spindles, and whorles ;nc 

• very iiiurh used in Scotland and the 

northern pans of Northumberland, at 

this time. The thread for shoe-makers, 



I and even linen webs, and all the twine 
I of which the Tweed salmon nets are 
made, are spun upon spindles. They 
are said to make a more even and 
smooth thread than spinning wheels. 
Mr. Lainbe. 

Sporeles, spurless, without spurs 
Spole, shoulder ; f. espaule. It 

seems to mean " arm-pit" 
Sprente, p. 3, col. 2, spurted, 

sprung out 
Spurging, froth that purges out 
Spurn, Spurne, a kick, p. 5, col. 1. 

See Tear 
Spyde, spied 

Spylt, spoiled, destroyed 
Spyt, p. 2, col. 2, Spy'te, spite 
Squelsh, a blow, or bang 
Stabille, p. 26, col. 1, perhaps 

'stablisb 
Stalwart, Stalworth, stout 
Stalworthlye, stoutly 
Stane, s. Stean, p. 21, col 1, stone 
Stark, p. 14, col. 1, stiff, p. 25, 

col. 2, entirely 
Startopes, buskins, or half boots 

worn by rustics, laced down 

before 
Stead, Stede, place 
Stean, s. stone 
Steedye, steady 
Stel, steel, Steilly, s. steely 
Stele, steel 
Steid, s. Stede, steed 
Steir, s. stir 
Sterris, stars 

Sterne, stern, or perhaps, stars 
Stert, start, p. 82, col. 2, started 
Sterte, Sterted, started 
Steven, p. 22, col. 2, time 
Steven, p. 23, col. 2, voice 
Still, quiet, silent 
Stint, stop, stopped 
Stirande stage, p. 6, col. 2, a 

friend interpreted this, "many 

a stirring travelling journey 
Stonderes, standers by 
Stoup of weir, pillar of war 
Stound, Stonde, (introd.) space, 

moment, hour, time 
Stoand, time, A-slound, a-while 
Stour, p. 4, col. 1, 19, col. 1, Stower, 

12, col. 2, Stoure, 8, col. 2, 14, 

col. 2, fight, disturbance, &c. 

This word is applied in the 

north to signify dust agitated 

and put into motion, as by the 

sweeping of a room. 
Slower, Stoure, stir, disturbance, 

fight 
Stovm, stolen 

Stowre, strong, robust, fierce 
Stra, Strae, s. straw 
Streight, straight 
Strekene, Stricken, struck 
Stret, street 
St rick, strict 
Strike, stricken 
Stroke, p. 3, col 2, struck 
Stude, Stuid, s. stood 



GLOSSARY. 



305 



Styntyde, stinted, stayed, stopped 

Styrt, start 

Suar, sure 

Summere, a sumpter horse 

Sum, s. some 

Sumpters, p. 78, col. 2, horses that 

carry clothes, furniture, &c. 
Sune, s. soon 
Suore by ys chin, sworn by his 

chin 
Surcease, cease 
Suthe, Sw'th, soon, quickly 
Swapte, p. 3, col. 2, Swapped, p. 8, 
col. 2, Swopede, struck violently, 
Scot. Sweap, to scourge, Cvid. 
Gl. Gaw. Dougl.) or perhaps 
exchanged ; sc. blows, so "Swap 
or Swopp" signifies 
Swaird, the grassy surface of the 

ground 
Swarvde, Swarved, climbed, or, as 
it is now expressed in the mid- 
land counties, Swarm, To swarm, 
is to draw oneself up a tree, 
or any other thing, clinging to 
it with the legs and arms, as 
hath been suggested by an in- 
genious correspondent 
Swa, Sa, so 

Swat, Swatte, Swotte, did sweat 
Swear, p. 2, col. 2, sware 
Swearde, Swerd, sword 
Sweare, swearing, oath 
Sxveaven, a dream 
Sweit, s. Swete, sweet 
Sweere, Swire, neck 
Sweypyls. A Sweypyl is that staff 
of the flail, with which corn is 
heaten out, vulg. a Supple, call- 
ed, in the midland counties, a 
Swindgell, where the other part 
is termed the lumd-staff 
Swinkers, labourers 
Swith, quickly, instantly 
Swyke, sigh 
Swyoing, whoring 
Swypyng, striking fast, (Cimh. 
Suipan, cito agere, or rather 
" scourging" from volvere, rap- 
tare). — Scot. Sweap, to scourge. 
Vide. Glossary to Gawin Dou- 
glas 
Sych, such 
Sy de-shear, p. 2, col. 2, Sydis-shear, 

p. 2, col. 2, on all sides 
Syd, side 

Syne, s. then, afterwards 
Syshemell, Ishmael 
Syth, since 
Syzt, sight 

T. 

Taiken, s. token, sign 

Taine, s. Tane, token 

Take, taken 

Talents, p. 17, col. 1, perhaps gol- 
den ornaments, hung from her 
head to the value of talents of 
gold 

Targe, target, shield 



Tear, p. 5, col. 1, this seems to 
be a proverb, " That tearing, 
or pulling, occasioned his spurn 
or kick" 

Teene, Tene, sorrow, indignation, 
wrath, properly injury, affront 

Teenefu, s. full of indignation, 
wrathful, furious 

Te he ! interjection of laughing 

Teir, s. Tere, tear 

Tent, s. heed 

Tei-magaunt, the god of the Sa- 
racens. See a memoir on this 
subject in page 19 

The old French romancers, who had 
corrupted termagant into tervagant, 
couple it with the name of Mahomet, 
as constantly as ours : thus, in the old 
Roman de Blanchardin, 

" Cy guer pison tuit Apolin, 
Et Mahomet et Tervagant." 
Hence Fontaine, with great humour, 
in his tale entitled " La Fiancee da 
Roy de Garbe," says, 
" Et reviant Mahom. Jupin, et Terva- 
gant, 
Avec maint autre dieu non moins ex- 
travagant." 
Mem. de l'Acad. des lnscript, torn. 20, 
4to, p. 352. - 

As termagant is evidently of Anglo- 
Saxon derivation, and can only be 
explained from the elements of that 
language ; its being corrupted by the 
old French romancers proves that they 
borrowed some things from ours. 

Terry, diminitive of Thierry 

Theodoricus, Didericus. Lat. 

also of Terence 
Te to, Te make, to make 
Tha, them, Thah, though 
Thuir, their, Thair, Thare, there 
Thame, s. them 
Than, s. then 

Thare, Theire, Ther, Thore, there 
Thear, Ther, p. 2, col. 2, there 
Thee, thrive, Mote he thee, may he 

thrive 
The God, seems contracted for 

The he, i. e. high God. 
The, Thee, thrive. So mote 1 thee, 

so may I thrive 

So in Chaucer, passim, Canterbury 
Tales, vol. i. p. 308. 

" God let him never the." 

The, they, The wear, p. 2, col. 1, 

they were 
The, thee, Thend, the end. 
Ther-for, p. 3, col. 1 , therefore 
Therto, thereto, Thes, these 
Ther, p. 2, col. 2, their 
Thii, they 

Thie, thy, Thowe, thou 
Thi sone, thy son 
Thilke, this 
Thir towmonds, s. these tweive 

months 
Thir, s. this, these 
Thirtti thousent, thirty thousand 
Thocht, thought 
Thole, Tholed, suffer, suffered 
Tho, then, those, the 
Thouse, s thou art 



Thoust, thou shalt, or shouldest 
Thrall, p. 76, col. 2, captive, p. 29, 

col. 1, Thraldom, captivity 
Thrang, s. throng, close 
Thrawis, s. throes 
Threape, to argue, to affirm or 

assert, in a positive overbearing 

manner 
Thre, Thrie, s. three 
Thrie, Thre, three 
Thrif, thrive 

Thrilled, twirled, turned round 
Thritie, thirty 

Throng, p. 42, col. 2, hastened 
Thropes, villages 
Throw, s. through 
Thruch, Throuch, s. through 
Thud, noise of a fall 
Thewes, manners. In p. 51, it 

signifies limbs . 
Theyther-ward, thither-ward, to- 
wards that place 
Tibbe. In Scotland, Tibbe is the 

dimunitive of Isabel 
Tift, s. puff of wind 
Till, s. to, when, query 
Till, p. 4, col. 2, unto, p. 18, col. 

2, entice 
Tild down, pitched, qt. 
Timkin, diminutive of Timothy 
Tine, p. 11, col. 2, lose 
Tint, s. lost 

Tirled, twirled, turned round 
Too-fall, s. twilight 

Too-fall of the night, " seems to be 
an image drawn from a suspended 
canopy, so let fall as to cover what is 
below."— Mr. Lambe. 

To, too, Item, two 

Tone, Tone, the one 

Ton, p. 3, col. 1, Tone, the one 

Tor, a tower ; also a high pointed 
rock, or hill 

Tow, Towe, two, Twa, s. two 

Tow, s. p. 31, col. 1, to let down 
with a rope,&c. 

Towyn, p. 6, col. 2, town 

Traiterye, treason 

Trenchant, f. cutting 

Tres-hardie, f. thrice hardy 

Treytory, Traitory, treachery 

Trichord, treacherous, fr. tricheur 

Tricthen, trick, deceive 

Tride, tried 

Trie, s. Tre, tree 

Triest furth, s. draw forth to an 
assignation 

Trifulcate, three forked, three 
pointed 

Trim, exact 

Troth, truth, faith, fidelity 

Trough, Trouth, troth 

Trowlhe, Troth, Tru, true 

Trow, helieve, trust, also verity 

Trumped, p. 1, "boasted, told brag- 
ging lies, lying stories. So in 
the north they say, " that's a 
trump," i. e. a lie ; " she goes 
about trumping," i. e. telling 
lies. 



306 



GLOSSARY. 



Trumps, made of B tree, perhaps, 

■• wooden trumpets,'' musical 

instruments tit enough for a 

mock tournament 
Tuik, s. took 
Tuke gude keip, e. kept a close 

eve upon her 
Tul\ s. till, to 
Turn, p. 78, col. 2, such turn, such 

an occasion 
Turnes a crab, sc. at the fire roasts 

a crab 
Tusli, an interjection of contempt, 

or impatience 
Tua, s. two 
Twayne, two 
Ticin'd, s. p. 10, col. 2, parted, 

separated. V r id. G. Douglas 
Tuirtle, twist, s. thoroughly 

twisted, " twisted," " twirled 

twist," f. tortille 

U 
Uch, each 

Ugsome, s. shocking, horrible 
Unbethought, for bethought. So 

Unlosse, for loose 
Unctuous, fat, clammy, oily 
Undermerles, afternoons 
Undight, undecked, undressed 
Unkempt, uncombed 
Unmacklye, mis-shapen 
Unmujit, s. undisturbed, uncon- 

founded, perhaps Unmuvit 
Unseeled, opened ; a term in falcn. 
Unsett ste»en, p. 22, col. 2, unap- 

pointed time, unexpectedly 
Unsonsie, s. unlucky, unfortunate 
Untyll, unto, p. 42, col. 2, against 
Ure, use 
V titers, s. others 

V 

Vair, (Somersetsh. Dialect,) fair 

Valzient, s. valiant 

Vazen, (Som.) probably for Fai- 
then, i. e. faiths ; as Housen, 
Closen, &c. 

Venn, (Introd.) approach, coming 

Vices, (probably contracted for 
devices) p. 27, col. 1, screw r s, 
or perhaps, turning pins, swi- 
vels. An ingenious friend 
thinks a vice is rather " a 
spindle of a press," that goeth 
by a vice, that seemeth to 
move of itself. 

Vilane, p. 25, col. 1, rascally 

Vive, (Somerset.) five 

Vnyded, p. 43, col. 2, quitted, left 
the place 

Vriers, (Som.) friars 

W. 

Wa, s. way, wall 
Wadded, perhaps from Woad, i. e. 
of a light blue colour. 

Taylor.in his History of Gavel kind, 
p. 40, s;i\.«," Bright, from the British 
word brith, which Bignlfiei their wad- 
de-color ; this was a light blue." — 
fcflDlbew'l Dictionary. 



Wad, s. Wold, Wolde, would 

Wae, Watrfb', woe, woful 

II aeworth, s. woe betide 

Waine, waggon 

Wallowit, s. faded, withered 

Walker, a fuller of cloth 

Waltered, Weltered, rolled along, 

also wallowed 
Waltering, weltering 
Waly, an interjection of grief 
Watne, s. womb 
Wame, Wem, s. belly 
Wane, p. 3, col. 2, the same as 

Ane, one So Wone, p. 4, col. 

1, is one 

In fol 355 of Bannatyne's MS. is a 
short fragment in which JJ ane is used 
for Ane ; or, one : viz. 
"Amongst the monsters that we find, 
There's wane belovved of womankind, 
Renowned for antiquity, 
From Adame drivs his pedigree." 

Wan neir, s. draw near 

Wanrufe, s. uneasy 

War, p. 2, col. 2, aware 

Warde, s. advise, forewarn 

Ward, s. watch, sentinel 

Warke, s. work 

Warld, s. world 

Wurldis, s. p. 15, col. 2, worlds 

Waryson, p. 8, col. 1, reward 

Waryd, s. accursed 

Wassel, drinking, good cheer 

Wate, s. Weete, Wete, Witte, Wot, 

Wote, Wotte, know 
Wate, s. blamed, Piaet. of Wyte, 

to blame 
Wat, p. 3, col. 1, WA, know, am 

aware 
Wat, s. wet, also kn^w 
Wax, to grow, become 
Wayward, fro ward, peevish 
Wnyde, waved 
Weal, p. 4, col. 2, wail 
Weak, p. 28, col. 2, happiness, 

prosperity, &c. 
Weare in, s. drive in gently 
Wearifu', wearisome, tiresome, 

disturbing 
Weede, clothing, dress 
Weedes, clothes 
Wee, s. little 
Weel, well, also we'll 
Ween, Weend, think, thought 
Weet, s. wet 

Wedous, p. 4, col. 2, widows 
Weil, s. Weepe, weep 
Weinde, s. Wende, Went, Weende, 

Weened, thought 
Weid, s. Wede, Weed, clothes, clo- 
thing 
Weird, wizard, witch, properly 

fate, destiny 
Well away, exclamation of pity 
Weldunge, ruling 
Wei of pile, source of pity 
Welkin, the sky 
Weme, womb, belly, hollow 
Wem, ( Introd.) hurt 
Wende, went, Wendeth, goeth 



Wende, p. 44. col. 2, Weene 

thought 
Wend, Wends, go, goes 
Wene, Weenest, ween, weenest 
Werre, Weir, s. war. War r is, s. 

wars 
Werryed, worried 
Wereth, defendeth 
Weike, work 
Wer, were 
! Wes, was 
I Westlin, s. western 
| Westlings, western, or whistling 
Wha, s. who 
Wliair, s. where 
Whan, s. when 
Whang, s. a large slice 
Wheelyng, wheeling 
Wheder, whither 
Whig, sour whey, or butter-milk 
While, p. 76, col. 1, until 
Whilk, s. which 
Whittles, knives 
Whit, jot 
Whoard, hoard 
Whorles. Vide Spindles 
Whos,p. 25, col. 2, whoso 
Whyllys, whilst 
Wi', s. with 
Wight, p. 50, col. 2, person, p. 

76, col. 1, strong, lusty 
Wight, human creature, man or 

woman 
Wighty, p. 22, col. 1, strong, 

lusty, active, nimble 
Wightlye, p. 12, col. 1, vigorously 
Will, s.p. 20, col. 1, shall 
Wild, worm, serpent 
Wildings, wild apples 
Wilfull, p. 22, col. 2, wandering, 

perverse, erring 
Winnae, p. 10, col. 2, will not 
Windar, perhaps the contraction 

of Windhover, a kind of haw k 
Windlmg, s. winding 
H in, s. get, gain 
Winsome, p. 83, col. 1, agreeable, 

engaging 
Wirke wislier, work more wisely 
Wisse, direct, govern, take care of, 

a. s. pippian 
Wiss, p. 73, col. 2, know, wist, 

knew 
Wit, Weet, know, understand 
Withonten, Withoughten, without 
Wohster, s. Webster, weaver 
Wond-wroth, s. furiously enraged 
Woodweele, p. 21, col. 2, or Wode- 

wale, the golden ouile, a bird 

of the thrush kind. Gloss. 

Chauc. The original MS. has 

Wood wee te 
Wode, Wod, wood, also mad 
Wode-ward, towards the wood 
Woe-begone, p. 1+, col. 1, lost in 

woe, overwhelmed with grief 
Woe-man, a sorrowful man 
j Woe-worth, woe be to [you] a. s. 

northan (fieri) to be, to be 

come 





GLOSSARY. 


307 


Woe, woful, sorrowful 


Y 


Yn house, home 


Wolde, would 


Y, I, Y synge, I sing 


Ynglonde, England 


Wonne, dwell 


Yae, s. each 


Yngglishs, Ynglysshe, English 


Wonders, wondrous 


Yalping, s. yelping 


Yode, went 


Wonde t (lnrrod.) wound, winded 


Yaned, yawned 


Youe, you 


Won'd, p. 79, col. 2, Wound, 


Yave, p. 73, col. 1, gave 


Y-picki»g, picking, culling, ga- 


dwelt 


Yate, gate 


thering 


Wondersly, Wonderly, won- 


Y-beare, Y-boren, bear, borne. 


Ys, is, his, in his 


drously 


So Y-founde, found, Y-mad, 
made, Y-wonne, won 


Y-slaw, slain 


Won, wont, usage 


Ystonge, (Introd.) stung 


Wont, p. 4, col. 1, one 


Y-built, built 


Yt, it 


Worshipfully friended, of worship- 


Yc/j, Ycfre, each 


Yth, p. 2, col. 2, in the 


ful friends 


Ycholde yef, 1 should if 


Y-u?ere, were 


Worthe, worthy 


Ychone, p. 8, col. 2, each one 


Y-wis, p. 28, col. 1, I w/s, verily 


Wot, know, think 


Ychon, each one 


Y-wrought, wrought 


Wote, Wot, know, I wote, verily 


Ychulle (Introd.) I shall 


Y-wys, truly, verily 


Wouche, p. 3, col. 2, mischief, 


Ychyseled, cut with the chisel 


Y-yote, molten, melted 


ev-il, a. s. pohj, i. e. Wohg. 


Y-cleped, named, called 




Malum 


Y-con'd, taught, instructed 


Z 


Wo, Woo, woe 


Y-core, chosen 


Zacring-bfll, Som. Sacring bell, ;i 


Wow, an exclamation of wonder, 


Ydle, idle 


little bell rung to give notice of 


also Vow, London dialect 


Yee, p. 8, col. 1, eye 


the elevation of the host 


Wracke, ruin, destruction 


Yearded, buried 


Zee, Zeene. Som. see, saen 


Wrang, s. wrung 


Ye bent, Y-bent, bent 


Zees, ye shall 


Wreake, pursue revengefully 


Yede, Yode, went 


Ze, s. ye, Zee're, ye are 


Wrench, wretchedness 


Ye seth, Y-seth, in faith 


£We, Yede, went 


Wright, p. 26, col. 1, write 


Ycha, Ilka, e&ch, every 


ZefYefM 


Wringe, p. 25, col. 1, contended 


Yeldyde, yielded 


Zeirs, s. years 


with violence 


Yenoughe, ynoughe, enough 


Zellow, s. yellow 


Writhe, p. 75, col. 2, w r rithed, 


Yerrarchy, hierarchy 


2ewe, take care of, a. s. scman 


twisted 


Yere, Yeere, year, years 


Zent, through, a. s. zeon^ 


Wronge, wrong 


Yerle, p. 3, col. 1, Yerlle, ea:l 


Zestrene, s. yester e'en 


Wrougt, wrought 


Yerly, p. 2, col. 2, early 


Zit, s. Zet, yet 


Wroken, revenged 


Yese, s. ye shall 


Zonder, s. yonder 


Wull, s. will 


Yestreen, s. yester evening 


Zong, s. young 


Wyght, p. 79, col. 1 , strong, lusty 


F/,if 


2o!i, s. you, Zour, s. your 


Wyghtye, p. 46, col. 1, the same 


Yfere, together 


Zoud, s. you'd, you would 


Wyld, p. 2, col. 2, wild deer 


Y-founde, found 


Zour-lane, Yourlane, alone, by 


Wynne, Win, joy 


Ygnoraunce, ignorance 


yourself 


Wy nnen, win, gain 


YIL, ill 


Zouth, s. youth 


Wynde, Wende } go 


Ylke, Ilk, same, That ylk, that 


Zule, s. Yule, christmas 


Wyste, knew 


same 


Zung, s. young 


Wyte, blame 


Ylythe (Introd.) listen 




Wyt, Wit, Weet, know 


Yn, in 




%* The printer has usually subs 


tituted the letter z, to express the chj 


iracter 3, which occurs in old MSS.; 


' • ut we are not to suppose that this 


3 was ever pronounced as our mode 


rn z ; it had rather the force of y, 


(ind, perhaps, of gh), being no ot 


ler than the Saxon letter 5, which th 


3 Scots and English have, in man) 


instances, changed in y, as jearit), ] 


fard, j$eari, y earj jeonj, young, &c. 





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